Craving//Connecting: Writing

For quite some time I’ve been ruminating on how to turn the words “Craving” and “Connection” into some sort of recurrent series. Where I’ve landed is that once a month¹ I will do a Craving//Connecting post, exploring a topic I’m either craving or (wait for it) connecting to. I also envision extending this as an opportunity for guest posts, as well. To kick us off, what better topic to connect to than the topic of writing.

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My Grandmommy and I doing what we loved to do together—sharing stories

This week marks one year since I began writing online.

A friend shared on Facebook an old guest blogpost she wrote, which led me to the original blog site, which led me to poking around their upcoming guest submission themes. When I noticed August’s theme of “goodbye”, I felt my essay write itself in my mind.

Fresh off of two failed embryo transfers within six months, gearing up for what would be my third, and longing for an outlet for self expression, writing came back into my life when I needed it most.

I pushed through the imposter syndrome which threatened to keep the words in my drafts folder and quieted the critics in my head who asked “you’ve never written publicly, what makes you think you can start now?”

Seeing my words in print for the first time, outside of my journal, was more fulfilling than I realized and the impetus for this Substack. So now, one year later, in honor of taking that leap of faith, I wanted to remind myself of all the reasons I still write².

Because while writing has been a lifeline for me over the last year, it hasn’t always come easily. Just this week I received the dreaded, “unfortunately our calendar is full at the moment, so we can’t accept this, but thank you for submitting” email. In an attempt to improve my craft and expand my purview here on Substack, I’ve begun to read other writers and at times have felt like a school girl drafting a class essay compared to the way some of these women wield words. Over the past few months, grief and depression have threatened to swallow me whole as my IVF journey came to a painful end and rendered me speechless for long stretches of time. But even still, I continue to write.

I write to get out of my own head. I am the meme that says, “hey sorry I forgot your name already I was busy getting ready to say my name while you were saying your name.” I am so often in my head, I miss what is happening in the real world for trying to consider the real world. Writing bridges a mind-body connection, which in turn connects my thoughts to my reality.

I write to know how I feel.

I write to point toward Jesus. I often struggle with how to do this well. I constantly fight the tension of wanting to accurately portray my experiences for what they are without tying them up in some Jesus filtered bow. Yet I cannot deny the reality that His fingerprints cover every aspect of my life and my belief that even when all hope in this world seems lost, my hope in Him remains.

I write to reclaim a part of me grief has tried to steal.

I write to honor my late grandmother, who became a published author for the first time at age 75 and who instilled in me my love for reading and writing. As a little girl, days at her house were spent telling stories to each other and “writing books” on computer paper. When I write, I feel like that same little girl, carrying on her legacy.

I write to identify with those reading my work— while so much writing takes place behind the scenes, I agree with John Cheever who said, “I can’t write without a reader. It’s precisely like a kiss—you can’t do it alone.”

I write to have an excuse to deposit beautiful words into sentences.

I write to stay off the couch during nap time— falling victim to a Bravo marathon makes it impossible to go about the rest of my day productively. Writing demands I stay alert.

I write to share the stories of my life in an effort to make you feel less alone in yours.

I write to fill the void podcasting left in my life. When our show ended in 2021, I welcomed the break. But after the dust of my life settled a bit, I began to crave a new creative outlet. While I love podcasting and still miss being behind the microphone, writing has given me the flexibility to create in pockets of my day and a new way to use my voice.

I write to commune with the world beyond my zip code.

I write to preserve the moment. At this time last year, I felt paralyzed by the possibilities of what to write about because the Internet is a scary place and your words can live in perpetuity. Writing about a specific moment in time felt daunting because what if I didn’t feel the same way in the next moment? But over the last year I’ve come to appreciate this fluidity instead of fear it. Just like looking at the photo of me and my grandmother informs my life circa 1994— a Barney obsession, the throw blanket I can still feel myself snuggled under, and thick bangs I vow to never give my child, I look forward to writing about what my reality is today as a time capsule for my future self.

I write to feel like an adult in the midst of sandwich making and “no, not that granola bar I just asked for” negotiating and “let’s try that again” modeling.

I write to bring me back to myself.

There are millions of reasons to write, these are but a few. If you’ve read any of my words over the last year, you are one of the reasons I continue to pluck away at my keyboard. It’s an incredible honor to have one’s words considered, an even greater honor to have them understood.

If you aren’t already, would you consider hitting the subscribe button? Doing so ensures these posts are delivered straight to your inbox or my personal favorite, the Substack app, and you don’t have to rely on clicking the link whenever it’s shared on social media.

If you are already subscribed, your support does not go unnoticed. Would you consider sharing Craving Connection with a friend you think may be CRAVING some CONNECTION to meaningful words?

To end, I’ll leave you with a quote from one of the best books I’ve read this year. It resonated with me so deeply, it’s become etched in my mind:

“Maybe she could pull the dagger out of her gut and put it into his. That was what writing was, wasn’t it?”— Margo’s Got Money Troubles

1. My goal is once a month, but like all new endeavors started mid-August/early September, we’ll see how the schedule actually pans out. But I’m hopeful for this one.

2. This idea is sort of the inverse of prompts like this one from Kimberley Knowle-Zeller and this one from Dani Elgas