Because I Must

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My writing career emerged so late in life that I have felt an urgency to accomplish its goals and fulfill my dreams as an author. A belly-fire compels me to leave for posterity a meaningful body of work, a body of words, if you will. This aspiration has little to do with acquiring fame or fortune. Rather, it comes from a lifelong preoccupation with words--their beauty and their potential to influence for good--and for God. 

I’m convinced that words have power--the power to hurt and the power to heal. In my latest book, After Rain, I refer to a fifteen-year period in my life when I was chronically ill and, consequently, deeply depressed. Often, my utterances spewed forth as hurtful barbs and unwelcome criticisms. Yet, it was never my intention to harm people, especially the people I loved the most. I was so angry, helpless and hopeless that I needed to lash out. I couldn’t seem to control the outrageous alter ego that consumed me. 

It was difficult to write about that dark period; it’s difficult, even now. But since 2010, when I started writing in earnest, I’ve learned that writing is therapeutic. More importantly, I’ve learned that authentic words can be helpful to others, especially those who are going through painful experiences. 

Giving yourself, as a writer, permission to be vulnerable is not easy; but holding prisoner the ugly recesses of one’s mind does not benefit readers who may be searching for truth or hope or lasting peace.   

Lately, I have been watching documentaries created by Yad Vashem, an organization committed to commemorating the few living survivors of the Nazi Holocaust. The accounts are heart-wrenching, the atrocities oh-so-ugly. Sometimes I must pause, take a breath and shed tears, but I continue watching because the words of these courageous individuals are important. Remembering the history, along with its horror, is important “lest we repeat it.” 

Without exception, the one thing all these survivors mention is that they could not speak about their experiences for twenty-five to thirty years after the war ended. Telling their stories was too painful. Recalling the horrors they and their loved ones suffered was too traumatic. It wasn’t until they realized the world might forget unless they spoke out, that they were able to summon the courage. 

Authentic words, whether written or spoken, are important.

What is my dream as an author? What is it that I want to leave behind after I’m gone from this earthly existence? Aside from my cherished children and grandchildren, I want to leave a body of writing that makes a positive contribution to the world. I want my words to inspire hope and provide comfort.  

Most creative writers will tell you they write because they must. They write because without written expression, they are not whole. Yes, I write because I must, but the more I write, the more conscious I am of the power of authenticity. It’s a responsibility I do not take lightly.   

Please visit my author website: https://www.cindylfreeman.com/