Thursday, March 24, 2011

The Wolf Within

A short while ago, I made a promise to myself that come hell or high water I would make the time to write every day.

Even when I feel like I have nothing to say.

Like today. 

However, I DID promise myself and a promise made is to be kept.  

Here's where I have to take a deep breath and shake off my fear of exposing my soft, vulnerable underbelly.

After a short but intense period of introspection, I came to realize that I am capable of writing beautiful prose.  I am capable of writing books.   I am a talented writer.   I can use many different 'voices' and breathe life into each character I create. 

But *drum roll for 'moment of truth' confession* I was afraid.  Afraid might be too namby-pamby a word: terrified.  I was terrified to truly let go and write.  I was terrified of my wolf within. 

Yeah - sounds crazy, doesn't it?   Wolf within?  What the hell does that mean?  Athletes talk about their edge being ‘the fire in their belly.’  Well, I have a wolf in my soul; a restless, prowling presence that stalks the corners of my unexpressed thoughts and ideas.  There lives in me a beast that gnaws at my throat until I surrender the blocked words of my heart.  He thrives in the cold, blue light of winter.  He relishes the hunt to ensure his survival but is merciful in his quick, clean kill. When he howls at the moon, his song is hauntingly clear and beautiful. 

I tried to tame him by writing pretty pablum stuff.  I tried to tamp him down by writing mainstream fiction.  I threw him a bone of chick-lit.  He sat on my heart and stared at the wasteland of my offerings.   

His strength and presence overwhelmed me.  I drew back whenever I sensed his presence; I covered the eyes my inspiration.  I dammed the river of creative energy from which he nightly drank.  My mind quivered in fear of my silent predator. 

Then one night, when the tempestuous weather matched the churning of my spirit, I realized he is me.  I am not him yet….He. Is. Me.  He is the part of me that’s free to roam those wide open fields of inspiration – to snuffle out the dark corners of ideas and thoughts and run with them to their natural conclusion.  He doesn’t care for ‘pretty’ or ‘safe.’  He doesn’t allow all the ‘what-ifs’ to get in the way of his sustenance. 

I realized that he is me and promised myself I would honor that part of me by writing daily, without fear, without over-thinking, without allowing the Greek ‘what will they think’ chorus to enter my head. 

My frightfully powerful wolf within trusts his instincts.  I trust me, now, as well.

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