Do you have a personal story to tell but don’t know where to start?

Do you have a personal story to tell but don’t know where to start?

by | Jun 1, 2022 | Writer’s journey

A good place to start is by asking yourself, why do I want to tell my story? Let it be your first writing prompt. You can take a pen and a paper and welcome whatever lands on your page. Don’t overanalyse, and do not pause so that you can outrun your inner censor; let your subconscious pour. Write until you no longer can. Breathe. Take a break. Distil your why to a sentence or two, or however long feels right for you. Print it out and pin it to the wall. Read it aloud in those moments of creative struggles.

Your urge to write might be to release pain or anguish or to make sense of why events transpired in your life; you might want to assume responsibility or exempt yourself of culpability; or perhaps you are after closure or forgiveness;  whatever the premise for your story writing is, it is valid. It is relevant.

Whether it is destined for a large audience or your family archives, your story matters. As Brian Greene said, “We are a species that delights in a story.” A personal narrative is a foray of stumbles and triumphs, falls and rises, disappointments and realisations. It is a universal denominator that transcends race, geography, ethnicity, and religion. Writing a personal story is as therapeutic as it is enlightening, at times gut-wrenching and arduous, but, for the most part, an enriching journey. Are you ready to begin yours?

Here are the three essential habits to fuel your storytelling pursuit.

  1. Read, read, and read.Do you have a favourite author, story, essay, memoir, or novel? The chances are that someone somewhere has written about a similar experience or similar circumstances or dealt with the same dilemmas. Writers read a lot. Read to learn from those who inspire you. Pay attention to what makes a particular piece of writing so appealing to you. Take notes on what you understand and what confuses you. Reading shapes your writing voice, and it also helps to identify your knowledge gaps.
  1. Find your tribe.Writing is a solitary activity. Seeking professional editorial feedback on those early drafts could be a costly exercise, yet constructive, merit-based criticism is paramount for your growth as a writer. Find your writing buddies by joining your local writing group or a writers’ circle. Writing workshops and courses are perfect venues to kill two birds with one stone: you bridge your knowledge gaps and network with like-minded fellow writers. Writing coaches and mentors are your more personalised alternatives.
  1. Write, Forest, write. There are no shortcuts to honing your craft, so keep writing regularly, persistently, and mindfully. Write with intention, free write, pick the jewels, and re-write. Repeat.

Your why is the North Star on the writing journey. Reading is your wind, your writing tribe is your sail, and writing consistently is the boat that would take you to places of wonder: smooth sailing, fellow storyteller.

What is home to you?

What is home to you?

by | Jun 1, 2022 | Musings

Is it a physical place where your possessions are? A feeling of comfort and safety? A sense of belonging? Or an emotion of relief, like one entering your home after a time away, that first sigh of arrival, as you plunged on your sofa.

As a serial expat from the no longer existent country, the USSR, the concept of home has been a contentious topic. “Where is your home?” was a frequent question in my almost thirty years of expat life. “Home is where I am”, I used to answer, referring to a place where my things are parked.

The home was in Dubai, Basel, Hong Kong, Shanghai, Moscow, Rotterdam and now The Hague. The change was voluntary, powered by curiosity. And like seasonal changes, you go through the newness of the Summer as unfamiliar scenes, sounds, smells, and tastes overwhelm your sensory apparatus. The Autumn brings an adjustment chill as you search for your place in the new reality. The winter ponders blues and longing for the comforts of life in the place left behind. But the spring reinvigorates your desire to blossom as you notice the new home sprout.

For many years I thought home was our belongings that we, like snails, carried along with us: packing and unpacking, losing some and acquiring others, hoarding and giving away.

And then, on the last move, we had half of our personal effects in storage for two years. I no longer remembered or missed those things, even though, while unpacking souvenir boxes, I could accurately pin each item on the time-place axes of our life.

We were fortunate enough to experience many sighs of arrival. But did we ever belong to those diverse and often very foreign cultures? We sat in the first row of privileged passive observers, claiming neutrality on politics, human rights, freedom of speech, and value systems, learning to accept the multitude of opinions, views, perceptions and notions, even if those were contrary to ours.

After decades on the road, have I realised that home is as much as the physical anchoring as it is a state of mind — a sense of belonging. And one could belong to many tribes and places. Home is an emotional construct on top of a physically sound foundation. Home is a web of interconnectedness that we weave throughout our lives, giving us meaning, fortifying sanity, establishing social grounding, fueling our value system and filling us with purpose.

I left my very first home out of economic despair, but it was my choice. For many, there is no luxury of choice, fleeing war or a natural calamity. And that is a scary thought.
What is home to you?