Writing is hard. For me, it takes a lot out, because I’m pouring so much energy in. It’s okay to wonder why you’re doing that, when so few people really pay attention. They’re your words, after all. Crafted by you, and yet it seems so irrelevant.
I think it’s okay to say that being anonymous hurts, when you think you have something to say, and that what you have to say is meaningful in some way. Or just different. Or just a voice that hasn’t been heard before. My experiences in my writing are shaped by being an immigrant to North America. For anyone who hasn’t followed that path, it’s impossible to explain what I mean by that. If you’ve not experienced racism in its ugly forms before, you cannot feel me.
But it’s more than that. I want to create better worlds. Unravelling human nature, in its oddness and ugliness, allows us to look for something better. At least I believe it does. What world should we create? Where is the place that we want to be? As dark as I like to get with my writing, as completely crazy as I often get with plots, there is one defining thing that I like to bring: an uplifting narrative. A sense of hope. A sense that it’s going to be okay, that we will figure this out together.
In my work world, I tackle the climate crisis. Same thing. We will figure this out, no matter how hard it is, or how many people demean you and put you down and tell you that your work is useless. Why does that matter? The cause is true. The journey defined. The fight, for lack of a better word, is righteous.
Is my writing righteous? Does it actually mean anything, or have any place in this world? Who makes that determination? Not me. It’s not me. That’s important to remember. Voices we have, and often we speak, but speaking is not enough to be heard, and hearing is not something people must do. It’s not.
But voices we have, and voices we should bring, no matter what. This is the righteous part of the fight, the struggle. It’s not like anyone has a right to be listened to. It’s the thought of voices, sometimes underrepresented, sometimes misrepresented, having a place… Just having a place. That’s the part that matters. Speak, and you might be heard. There really isn’t any other answer.
If I can help hear you, and celebrate your voice, I will. I won’t be perfect at this, but I will surely try, because you’re in the struggle, too. The righteous fight to say something, to be heard. As a collective, we are heard. That’s a real cause, and that cause, no matter how much we might feel otherwise at times, is wonderful. And so are you.