Wrangler Dani

I’ve been challenged to participate in a memoir-writing exercise, and as you all well know, I love writing prompts so of course I said yes. Of course, these are not your run-of-the-mill “write about the prettiest sunset ever” or “tell us about your best friend” prompts. These are prompts that encourage memories I’m not proud of, things I don’t really want to write about (let alone publish!) or places inside myself and my past that scare me.

The writer says to write those things anyway, that they don’t have to be shared with the world in order to give us freedom and our stories teeth and power (instead of making our narratives falsely safe and bland). However, I’m left standing with my writing dreams in one hand and my fear in the other – wondering which one I’ll let go of first in the face of dripping incisors and snarling fear.

But then I think about the times that I have known with no waffling that I am indeed called to write – not in a spirit of exhibition or sentimentality, but because I have something to say and a gift for saying it well. I think about the narratives that have touched my life, the stories of trust and heroism and courage and hope and light, none of which would have been possible with courageous, blunt-force honesty on the part of the writer.

So I pursue. I’m running after an animal with teeth, dear friends, and I’m trying to not let my knees knock or my hands shake in my quest.