Each time I rewrote an essay, my story came forward a little more, my history opened a bit wider, and I became more visible. This was not comforting.
However, I finally gave in a few months ago and began to write from the most honest place I could find. I began to write about the fears I’d always been embarrassed to share, the little obsessions that reveal me as just a human being after all, one not very wise at all, who is too small and unformed herself to stand at the front of the room and formulate a philosophical approach to life.
When I turned in the new version of the introduction, my agent responded that it was exactly right, and I uttered some mild profanity. Okay, this is my life, and I suppose that if I write essays, I will need to let others see this life, really see it. I come to the writing every other week or so for maybe an hour. It is uncomfortable work, but my gut tells me that it’s the right work. There are stories in my soul, and they are the ones that count the most.
– from “The Soul Tells a Story: Engaging Creativity with Spirituality in the Writing Life” by Vinita Hampton Wright Loyola Press