Reclaiming My Writer Identity

Photo by Art Lasovsky on Unsplash

I was on my way into work this morning and listening to Dare to Lead by Brené Brown when she began talking about “creativity scars” — these powerful moments where someone in authority communicates to us that we aren’t good enough at some creative endeavor, and we internalize that message and believe it. And then we live it like it’s the truth.

When I was a young girl, I loved to write.  Creative writing was my hobby. I started a young adult fiction novel modeled loosely after The Babysitters’ Club meet The Junior High series (hey, I grew up in the suburbs where these were my model texts at the time). I wrote a ton of poetry. I entered my school’s creative writing contest every year and generally placed, even winning one year with a short story about a community of rocks based on “pebble people” souvenirs that I had seen in a small shop in Solvang, CA.

Then in 6th grade, we were assigned to write a scary story.  It was likely around this time of the year, given that Halloween scary stories are pretty standard fare for creative writing assignments.  I wrote about a mastermind clown who scared a young girl by coming alive and doing mean things.  At the end of the story, the girl woke up and the clown winked at her.  I didn’t particularly love the assignment and it wasn’t perhaps my best work.  But, I was shocked to receive the rubric equivalent of a D on the piece with the comment, “Too cliché.”

Let me tell you, in 6th grade, I didn’t even know what that comment meant (I remember asking my mother and then looking it up…in a dictionary… because I am old and the internet didn’t exist back then). And, I certainly did not know enough about the genre of horror to know that my scary clown, waking up from a dream, story was “too cliché.”

But that comment stuck with me for years.

It left a deep creativity scar.

I stopped believing I was a strong writer.

I stopped believing in my voice.

I kept writing academically, but with little confidence.

I tried to make my language as academic as possible to get it right and please my teachers.

Fast forward to writing the final chapter of my dissertation where my chair was flummoxed at the fact that I couldn’t insert my voice into my recommendations chapter.  She was mostly confused that I couldn’t translate the way I spoke and articulated my voice in person into my academic writing which she said was actually “over-academic” (which I heard as a compliment because I had been cultivating “over-academic” for years!). But her comments were equally confusing to me. For years, I thought that my writing wasn’t about my voice, but only about my data. Yes, I made interpretations, but wasn’t that a weakness of my work? Shouldn’t I minimize who I was in my work and stick to evidence?

The answer (academically) was (mostly), “Yes, AND” — that there is room for data and voice, that there is power in my positionality in relation to my data, that my experiences mattered. And they still matter.

My advisor’s counsel helped me to realize that there was a place for my voice  in my writing and helped me to begin healing the deep creativity scar that I had towards writing outside of fully academic contexts.  This blog has helped a lot too.

Last week, on national day of writing, I wrote the following tweet:

In my most honest way, this was a reclamation of my writer identity.

Creativity scars are harmful. They can silence voices that need to be heard.

But we can heal from these scars, reclaim our creative identities, and tell our powerful stories of surviving and thriving.

I am a writer. What is your creative superpower?

4 thoughts on “Reclaiming My Writer Identity

  1. Wow! I LOVE your Twitter profile. I need you to help me write mine!!!! It’s so bold and beautiful! (Like you!)

  2. too cliche!? for a sixth grader!? what kind of a precocious creative writing boot camp was this? I’d be proud of any sixth grader who wrote clear, grammatical, original sentences is a sensible sequence, even if they were regurgitating their favorite cartoon from yesterday, or some old and well-worn tale–wasn’t that Shakespeare’s MO anyway?!

    haha, string of interrobangs aside, i am glad that you have been building up your voice, and towards truly meaningful ends. blog on! 🙂

    • I love this response, my old friend! I can actually hear you giving this response in our freshman dorm room either directly to me or to Stoichy as you’re contemplating the ridiculousness of it all 🙂 Hugs to you and hope all is well!

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