This is my letter to the World
That never wrote to Me—
Emily Dickinson
What would you write about or share if there was no fear? What would you write even if there’s no guarantee anyone will write back?
The topics that we feel strongly about are often the projects we put off. Maybe because most humans will do anything to avoid negative judgment.
We want to be liked, to be taken seriously. We want to be impressive and important. But if we get all that, does being the best or the most important end up being what we really want?
True creative fulfillment comes from authenticity and feeling content with who we are and what we do. It’s not complicated, not in writing and not in life. But it’s something we’re told, repeatedly, not to do. We need to fit the mold we’ve been given and color inside the lines (or only outside of the lines if that’s what’s popular).
We need to conceal anything that might “expose” us. Sure, many people own their labels and identify with family or class or race or gender or what-have-you, but when we root out who we truly are, there is always something unique and potent beneath all that.
That potency is what connects us. It is what holds the message you feel compelled to share but are fearful of, the one that many put off so that they can focus on work with a clear outcome.
Maybe it’s not just judgment but the fear of being ignored, which (let’s be honest) happens to most artists when compared to their expectations. But to go into a project that you are passionate about is to go in with vitality. Life force. It’s to go all in. To do that at the risk of being ignored or attacked is courageous and, at least to me, admirable.
“I have come to believe over and over again that what is most important to me must be spoken, made verbal and shared, even at the risk of having it bruised or misunderstood.” ―Audre Lorde
Let’s go all in.
Why? Because why not?
The reason something is done or created or exists is rarely tied to short-term public opinion. Also, you can do nothing at all and still be ignored and/or judged.
This claim can be backed by the numerous influential artists, such as Emily Dickinson, Kafka, and Zora Neale Hurston, who were not recognized during their time but whose work remained influential. It can be further backed up by the template-based commercial artwork that is popular in its time but fades away in a month or year, which is most of it.*
We may not be able to predict responses, but we often try. We do so to keep ourselves safe and secure. But assuming we all have that divine thing beneath the surface identities, it’s worth asking what that inner, authentic part has to say.
That inner part is not always screaming. It might be quiet right now.
But it will speak and when it does, that’s the magic of creativity. That’s the muse. That’s the daemon. That’s the passion. That’s the purpose. That’s the thing we are here to share.
So again . . .
AYTL: What would you write and share with the world if you didn’t have to witness the reaction? Would there be a guarantee of no judgment, attack, or embarrassment? What letter will you leave the world, even if it doesn’t write back?
Learn more about the AYTL experiment here.
Writing prompt: Ask your muse what it wants to say and see what happens.
*Quick shout-out to jingle writers from the 90s who were VERY good at what they did. What Midwestern woman my age doesn’t still remember the “My Buddy, My Buddy …” or “I’m a big kid now” songs? *Shudders*
My fear, which I don’t see as having a bearing as an AYTL exercise, is a fear of cliche. I aim for originality, to avoid the trite in language. This avoidance limits my output as I create a story. My slow frequency of publication halts my willingness to hop onto Substack as I believe that such participation requires regularity. This would serve as a deadline, albeit self-imposed, that I prefer not to add to my work-ethic filled consciousness.
Finally, I’m provisionally pleased with my creations, but my target requires improvement.