To be or not to be a writer by Sheelagh Aston

 

The song "Mahogany," by Diana Ross, keeps playing in my head. Its soulful melody and questioning lyrics asking if I know where I was going and if I am happy with the things life is revealing to me?

It is a poignant reminder that I have moved from one phase in my life to another. Last December, after 20 years, I retired from a full-time ministry. I step down from a role I cherished earlier than desired due to health, and moved 300 miles. In one single strike, my identity and the place
I called home disappeared.

Do I know myself? the song wonders? I used to be Rev Sheelagh, Vicar of St So & So’s, the churchy one in the family. Leading well-attended services, working the crowd at events was not a problem for this die-hard lifelong introvert. But as me? I do my Christmas shopping in October to avoid the crowds. At social gatherings, I am Uni Bond to the wall. If I must go to a meeting, I will sit so low in the chair I look as if I am impersonating a limbo dancer.

Perhaps the first step is to accept the me I do know. Yes, I am a mother, sister, (newish) neighbour, friend, oh and a writer. A writer? Even typing the phrase feels odd. Writing has been an activity of mine since childhood, but not one shared. In the past, calling myself a writer seemed akin impersonating royalty with nothing published. Even after the children left home and I had items published, I kept silent, worried that family and friends might think it a bit odd; an indulgence of sorts.

Identifying yourself as a writer/author can be a conundrum for many who write. At what point do you call yourself a writer/author and go public? Is it when you begin to write, when you have something published, or is it a state of mind? It is not helped by that familiar question ‘Have you had anything published?’ asked immediately after you have screwed up your courage and made your declaration. It is if having something published validated your worth as a writer. Yes, it is nice to have your words in print, yet many write for all sorts of reasons – self-expression, playing with words, a safe space to explore inner emotions. Some do not want their work published, thank you. Yet through the pen or keyboard, we pour our very being on to paper. Which direction, as the song queries, we might be led will depend on our aspirations and endeavours.

So, how can I embrace ‘me’? Where do I look for help? There is one who has known me even before my existence. ‘Before I formed you in the womb, I knew you.’ God tells Jeremiah (1:5). It is the same God who tells Jeremiah, ‘I know the plans I have for you… to give you a future with hope.’ (Jer 29:11.)

The turning point for me came not with a literary prize or publishing contract but when viewing the home in with my brother last summer I now live. Upstairs, he cheerfully pointed to a third room. The owner asked why it was important to have an extra room, to which he replied, ‘My sister is a writer and needs a space to work.’

In those few words, I knew the direction I was heading in as me.

 

 Sheelagh is freelance writer who lives in the northeast.