braving the curve

the vulnerability of writing what others will see

Sometimes we just write for ourselves. And writing for ourselves is so good; I will preach ‘til the cows come home about the therapeutic effects of journaling.

But many of us don't want to stop there. We want to write for others also, and the thing that keeps us from doing that is...well, others. We want people to read what we write, but people are scary. Some of them are jerks, especially on the internet. And we don't want to look stupid, or be judged, or expose too much.

Those are some of the surface concerns we have when we consider writing something others will see. But deeper, we ask things like this:

• How do I write about myself without simultaneously writing about other people, because their lives blend into mine?

• How do I write about my struggle, without exposing myself too much or those I love? How do I write about what I'm going through without calling others out? (Or, should I call them out?)

• Will I lose friends? Will people be afraid to be close to me, lest I write about them? ("Don't worry," I say, "we only make fun of the government, Big Pharma, and mean people.")

There's a place for safe writing. It's all over the internet, in listicles, in boring articles that anybody could write and that you've already read in a hundred different variations.

But when you are writing to move people, you can't just give them a new version of something they've already read a hundred times. You must give them something personal – your beliefs, your personal thoughts, your questions, your expertise, your story. And none of that is safe.

Often when I'm writing, I'll hit a good word count and think I've said all I have to say. But the piece doesn't feel finished yet, because when I reread it, it's too safe, too vanilla, too soft and easy.

And this is when I start to realize I've been ignoring a nudge or two from the Lord, and going on my merry way. I think I'm done, I want to be done, but this is clearly not done. So I look around and examine those nudges, and recognize one or two places I've been ignoring. And eventually, if I'm brave enough, I ask the Lord, Do I really have to go there?

He doesn't even have to answer, because I know the answer is no, but also yes. No, I don't have to go there; I can write something boring and safe that will check off a box and bring absolutely zero revelation to myself or anyone else who reads it. Which is a total waste of time on both sides of the screen.

So the answer is really, Yes, go there, because I want the revelation. I want this to mean something. I want it to go somewhere.

But going places can be dangerous. There are curves, and icy patches.

When I learned how to drive, my dad – who was a trucker when I was a kid, and now drives race cars – taught me about taking curves without braking. Thirty years ago we didn't have anti-lock brakes, and when you hit the brakes on a curve, the wheels would lock up and follow the momentum of the car regardless of how you were steering, often sending you right into the ditch. So braking was not an option once you were already in the curve. To hit the brakes meant to lose control of the wheels and let them run passively with momentum, right into the ditch.

So to maintain control of the car you hit the gas a little instead, because that’s what keeps the wheels on the road, turning in the direction you want them to. Not too much, don't go crazy; we're not trying to take this thing on two wheels. But we don't want to stop before we get where we're supposed to be going, either.

Bringing this back to writing, here's the question: Are we willing to let people see the curves in our lives? Because we can stop before we brave the turn, but we won't get where we're supposed to be going, and we won't be helping others get there, either.

Parks Highway & Chugach Range, Palmer, Alaska

Many people are right where we are but they don’t have the words to navigate these bends in the road, and they will find huge relief in braving the curve with you because it resembles their own. They are along the wayside, waiting and looking for a companion’s perspective. It’s not our job to take them all the way to where they're going; it’s just to be alongside them on the part of the path we’re on.

I told a friend this a few months ago:

I often find myself desperate for answers and resolution when I’m writing because I don’t want to leave my readers wondering “Why did I just read that?” And He always shows up and brings insight and revelation that surprises me. Those are His answers and wisdom, not mine — but I have to sit in the discomfort of wrestling with words, and waiting for His words, before they come. And they will come for you too. This is why writing is so important; it’s like He tricks us into seeing what He wants us to because we didn’t know what it was until we saw ourselves writing it.

When we write, we need to push the gas a little and brave the curve when we're tempted to hit the brakes at the wrong time. Stopping at the easy vanilla finish will send us into the ditch, unseen, missing our destination. We have to dig deeper, where it hurts a little (or a lot) because that's where people resonate. That's where the good stuff is unearthed, and it brings healing to us and our readers.

You write that good stuff down, and if your gut does a little tiny heave like you took the corner just a wee bit too fast, you’re probably on the right track. Pray first — and if the Holy Spirit says yes, keep it in there.

But it won't come on its own; we have to go there and dig for it.

And then, give it time. It doesn't usually all come out the way it's supposed to at once, and you need time to decide if you added a little too much kick. So you'll come back after a day or three and look again, and notice that this section should go here, and that paragraph is really unnecessary and should be deleted. You might wonder if you've used too many metaphors and decide your readers are smart enough to handle it, and you'll agonize over comma placement. But also, this is when you'll remember a detail to add that brings light and depth and color to the whole message, and you'll think to yourself, How did this happen? I didn't know I had this in me.

But you did have it in you. You just had to dig for it. And if you're surprised at the end by what you found and where you ended up, you'll know this was God's work, His presence in us. You went somewhere important, and you took your readers with you. It meant something. We can't take credit for it, because it's far more brilliant than what we could have done without Him – and He has made His mark evident.