the curse of anonymity

There are pieces of me I’m afraid to tell, out in the open like this.  I’m afraid to tell of my journey in the Apostolic Christian Church, afraid to tell of my journey away from it.  I’m afraid to talk about my family too much, except the parts that exude joy.  I’m afraid to name names, to describe deep hurts, to delve into the details of marriage and money.

But I am a writer.  Sometimes I think I can only be a true writer when I am willing to lay it all out on the table.  In a way, to describe my deepest thoughts and pains and longings is to expose my jugular for anyone who comes along.  Or maybe it’s more than that.  Maybe it’s also exposing the jugular — or the private parts? — of the people closest to me.  My family, my husband, my former churchmates — they didn’t sign up to be written about like any old fictional character.

I wonder if creating is the most vulnerable profession in the world.  There is no taking back, no unpublishing, no privacy.  Unless, of course, you don’t write with full abandon.

Sometimes I wish that the stuff I wrote for others didn’t have to have a sense of anonymity about it.  I wish I could write whatever was calling to be released from my soul.

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    • Rachel
    • September 25th, 2007

    I’ve often wondered how you decide what to expose and what not to. It’s kind of scary, really.

    • Timothy Stoller
    • September 25th, 2007

    I can understan how you feel. In some of the essays I have written, I have tried to be anonymous, but also tried to be specific as possible. A fine line to walk.

    Permission is granted to use my real name and identity, should I ever come up in your writings.

    Timothy

    • c.l.beyer
    • September 26th, 2007

    Thanks, Timothy. 🙂

    • Luke
    • September 28th, 2007

    If you ever write about me, I’d prefer to be called stupendous man, and be living in Bermuda.

    Ok, seriously, I’d absolutely love to read about your church journeys.

    • matches
    • October 24th, 2007

    yes. yes. and yes. I agree with you. there are some things that i can’t tell. some things i want to tell, but i shouldn’t. some things i can tell, that i shouldn’t. the last are the things that i can tell that i do. keeping things bright and cheery for readers is a pain in the ass. i’ve deleted half of what i’ve written for the sake of others.

    i save the rest for myself in my personal journals. but sometimes i don’t even write there because of the burden that i will someday be to someone else.

    writing with full abandon is a dream i cannot afford…and i don’t know how to squeeze it in anywhere. i just don’t see how.

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