Last week's words about my visit to the fertility clinic were well-received. It was not an easy post to write. But editors and people close to me encouraged me to be bold and post it.
I received more responses than I have been sent about any other post. Some people found the essay to be sad and some people found the essay to be hopeful. Many people found it to be both and they asked for more.
Nuance is something I have been working towards in all my writing. I am fascinated when two contradictory emotions are held in an experience (and in a piece of writing). Your messages made me happy, but I also felt the weight of expectation. What's next?
On Monday, with praise echoing in my head, I started writing an essay about my teenage obsession with heavy metal. By Tuesday, I had realised this essay was about my relationship with my father. Wednesday came around and forced me to reckon with topics of friendship and identity. On Thursday the issue of racism within music had reared its ugly head.
I sat at my desk yesterday morning and stared nervously at the 3400 words I had written. I edited them for hours, restructured, cut things, wrote more words.
And then I decided not to publish them today.
The essay is not ready yet. The connections have not yet emerged, the nuance is not yet there. The words need more time. I need more time. Sometimes that's how writing goes.
So, there's no story this week.
Last week, the bold thing to do was to draw a deep breath and publish some words. This week, the opposite is true.
Have a great weekend,