What Is It That I Really Want?

I've read two books in the last two days, and hope to finish a third by tonight. The first was The Dip, which I've already given my thoughts on. The second was The Old Man and the Sea. This book was sent to me with a note attached: "word economy = nobel prize"... after reading, I can attest that this is true. And the third book of the week is An Exact Replica Of A Figment Of My Imagination. This one was also sent with a note: "how to turn journalizing into a Bestseller."  This is what I hope my book to be; not in content, but in concept.

In my Coaches Training this past weekend I received a lot of 10-minute coaching sessions. While the coaching was practiced by novices, it was led by experts. And as a result, I received some amazing coaching, as the essence of coaching is to allow the client (me) to answer his/her (my) own questions and draw his/her (my) own conclusions as to necessary action (if any) in his/her (my) life. In one of these sessions I focused on what I want people to get out of my writing; essentially: why am I writing? There were as many moments of silence as can occur in ten minutes during that session. In my memory, at least.

I tasked myself with trying to put into words what I want people to get out of my writing. I agreed to make a list of no less than ten things I wanted people to understand. I came up with things like: connect with emotions, relate experiences, embody change, and find yourself through my emotions. It all made sense at the time I wrote it down, but still I couldn't capture what I really wanted to say. And then I started reading this book. An Exact Replica...

The book is about the experience of the author's first child being stillborn and moving forward in life to have a second child that people will always see as her first. I'm only half way through it, and already I can relate to her. Not because I've endured a stillborn child; I've never even been pregnant. But the author has these emotions, these feelings, these thoughts, these rants that are so much in the moment of how she feels, how can I possibly not relate? As a writer, I've always been encouraged to show, not tell. So let me show you what I mean.

I have this idea that we are all humans and we all experience the same core emotions humans are capable of experiencing. Anger. Happiness. Sadness. Fear. And the varying fractions and multiples of each that lead us to frustration and despair and hysteria and joy and jumping up and down for such things and crying happy tears and tears of pain and regret and sorrow and faith and raising a fist to God and demanding to know why, why, for the love of God, why? The circumstances that lead us to these emotions and these actions are always different, as we are all unique. But the emotions themselves are what we all feel, what we can all relate to. 

This is what I wish to capture in my writing.