EVERY WRITER HAS WRITING OBSTACLES. How to combat your writing obstacles is a skill every one of you must have on you, know how to use and use as needed. But first you must identify those writing obstacles whether those obstacles be family, faith, a lack of belief in yourself, or any of the other known demons that keep us from our work. How to combat your writing obstacles? Read on in this guest post by an author of a new book.
How to Identify & Combat Your Writing Obstacles
by Bonnie Wright
Who is pulling your strings? Is there an invisible bad actor backstage jerking you around? Has the puppeteer psychologically damaged and twisted your mind into knots triggering trauma, imprisoned in a fear-stricken mind, frozen into silence, being pulled deeper into isolation and worthlessness? Searching for the insatiable quick fixes that never truly satisfy the longing heart that aches to be loved, respected and confident enough to be the person you were born to become. Because you are overshadowed by an inner veil of darkness that you can’t name? Its your normal? That there’s no way out? Frustrated, that life is a constant struggle of brokenness and hopelessness? Know that there is an answer and hope.
Earlier in my life, writing a memoir was unthinkable. I had years of below average grades. Where English Literature and Grammar were just barely above failing. Where teachers graded me based on effort. Where the city kids snubbed the “stinky farm kid.”
My home life was everyone constantly screaming at each other. Ducking the cruel and hateful words used to try to crush me. When that didn’t break me, they resorted to harming innocent animals in my presence – driving the emotional pain deeper. Dismissing me as if I didn’t exist. And wishing I didn’t. Sworn to silence…or else. Controlled. Made to feel guilty and a tattle tale if you told. One more tactic to shame me into silence and be invisible. It was a no-win situation. The crying child, yearning for a way out. Behind closed doors. Generational shame being repeated.
But then, there are inspirational dogs, and God, who pointed me to the way out of shame – whispering to my soul to grow-crossing the bridge to inner peace, joy and contentment, living a life of service.
Who were my antagonists?
Shame. When you’re told from birth that girls don’t need to learn to read, you’re a dummy, stupid. You don’t have choices. Everything bad is your fault, so suck it up, sister! I was my own worst enemy, doubting my ability to write, much less publish a memoir about an inherited shame-based life. Writing it out would quadruple my shame with friends and family – and especially at church.
So many self-critical questions spinning in my head—seeing myself overpowered by angry people verbally smashing me. Revisiting an old pattern in my life of inviting more chaos in. So, why write?
Because it mattered. Not only to me, but to the more than 60 percent of adults, and the most innocent in our society, who have been raised in a generational shame-based home, to awaken to the pathway out of shame. To aid others in discovering what caused the brokenness in their lives. To make others aware that shame is the basis of human trafficking. Having the courage to make a difference. To break the chains and shackles of this evil.
There was a real fear in being identified as the author of a book on shame, rather than the inspirational author of a story of God’s transformation from shame. Booting shame out the door.
The deceased. I was assured that the deceased would have no say in the truth.
Pen name. Shame directed me to use a pen name. In order to be honest, I later wrote under my own name. Truth mattered. Memoir is about truth.
Disclaimer. I’ve included a disclaimer that states: The views expressed in Diggin’ Up Bones reflect my beliefs and life experiences. Some names and details have been changed to protect the privacy of individuals. Scientific theories have been researched and documented by experts in the field.
Author credits. I was meticulous in crediting other authors and researchers. In some cases, I wrote letters asking for permissions.
Character’s permissions. I was proactive to have conversations of permission to use character’s names in the story, and they all agreed. With that permission, I wrote compassionately, but spoke the truth of unkind details of the events in a manner that would not cause repercussions or harm to their lives.
Legal input. I researched the possibilities of being sued, yet it was my story to tell. All issues would be a “he said, she said” scenario resulting in a weak legal case, with no gain.
Family members. I state in the lead paragraph in the chapter entitled, “This is Home,” I only know what I am told. There are things I am not supposed to know as a child. This is my take on it. My sister can refute this. We are six years apart, and she is the privileged older sibling. Respecting her was not meant to add more shame.
Cancel Culture and Censorship. The current cancel culture gave me pause whether the book would be censored and if the word smithing would change the powerful message to something more inefficient. My main concern, in this prevailing environment, was being made to feel ashamed for believing in Christ. Shame has no boundaries. Shame doesn’t care what beliefs a person holds, who you are or where you’re from. Shame only wants you to believe in it and consume you with lies. This is why I believe this book is necessary – to stand against the shame in our society and wake people up to shame’s evil power, pouring water on shame’s hostile coals. I wasn’t going to let shame stop me.
The day Diggin’ Up Bones went live on Amazon sent me spinning between fear and exhilaration. Friends were elated for me. And, while I thought I had put shame behind me, it reared its ugly head hoping to, once again, stop me, telling me I couldn’t possibly do this. But, I had come too far for shame to win. The waiting was over, there were no more rewrites, proofing, no more being patient for the next phase. After all, it had already been twelve years into the writing and healing journey. This was real. The raw, emotional, traumatic parts of me and my life were now exposed for all the world to read. Yikes! This was an unforeseen phase of healing and letting go.
Then, the church asked to put the book in their library. That caused me to pause and take a step back. Diggin’ Up Bones contains foul language, violent abuse of animals and family members, my image. Shame bull horned in my head. Then the care minister reminded me that this is God’s story and God goes in the dirtiest parts of people’s lives, lifting them up, transforming them, and that my story was a perfect fit for renewal and transformation. I calmed down, and shame sneaked off like a coward. The church interviewed me. They used my story leading up to Easter called Renewal, because each phase I lived matched with the several stages of spiritual growth. My confidence grew. Bravery set in. As many came to me and expressed it took real guts to write this, as it called out the shame in their lives, and what shame is doing to our society. Seeing and hearing these things helped me realize I had made the right decision.
It was my decision to self-publish this book, Diggin’ Up Bones: One woman’s spiritual struggle and her golden retriever who leads her out of unconscious transgenerational shame with the help of 1106 Design, LLC, a book design team in Phoenix, Arizona.
Diggin’ Up Bones, an excerpt: “The Assault of the Innocent”
(Editor’s note: This excerpt contains material that may upset some readers)
Toodle is a petite, female, mixed-breed cattle dog, almost calico. Her purpose is to herd the cows for milking morning and night. She does her job to perfection, but mostly out of fear.
“Toodle, get the cows!” Dad hollers. Within minutes she has the herd coming up the cow lane from the pasture and into the yard. She is loyal and faithful. She and I are best friends. She knows what I am thinking before I say it. I can tell her everything and she listens.
Toodle births two litters. She hides them in the barn. I sit, watching how she loves and cares for her innocent babies, snuggling in the straw. Their energy radiates pureness. At the slightest whimper, she responds tenderly, comforting and protecting them, giving them the best start in life so they have life skills. She makes sure every puppy gets the individual love and care they need. She licks them clean, keeps them warm and safe. Nurturing is in her nature and shows me what it is to be in a loving family. Her actions are opposite of what I am living. Instinctively, I want what she is giving her babies. Watching each puppy, I see different personalities. Some of the puppies are courageous, exploring away from their mother; others are shy and hover close. It’s the brave puppies that catch my eye. They’re the survivors. That’s what I want to be. A survivor.
With Toodle’s first litter, Dad forces me to watch him lump them in a gunny sack and heartlessly sling them against a fence post repeatedly, until the screams end. Toodle sees and hears this from a distance. She is afraid to approach, helpless to protect what she loves most. I feel her pain. My heart breaks while anger and hate take root. This is wrong. They are innocent. I feel guilty for not stopping my father. He buries the gunny sack between the machine shed and crapper. A gray, murky cloud surrounds Toodle. She whines and howls, searching for her puppies. She grieves. I sit with her in the barn, crying and hugging her. She seems to know I understand that we are both trapped victims.
When the second litter is born, Dad puts Toodle inside the barn away from her pups. “Get over here, kid,” he snaps as he drags me to where the puppies are sleeping alone in the straw pile.
“Put those puppies in the gunny sack, tie it shut, and bury them,” he orders.
“No, not doing that.” I have defied him.
He backhands me across the face. “You go bury those dogs and I won’t hear another word from you. Don’t you ever disobey me again!”
He grabs my hand and forces my fisted fingers around the shovel and stands over me, watching, while I dig the hole to bury the puppies. I hate him and fear one day he’ll bury me the same way.
Toodle escapes through a barn window and watches stoically through her grief a second time. She seems to understand it is not my fault and forgives me as I sob, hearing their final screams. She loves me and comforts me.
My father coldly walks away. “Get over it, kid. Life’s hard. Buck up,” he mutters. The rage he instills in me ignites my determination to be a survivor. Seeing Toodle stay strong through tragedy inspires me to endure and move on. I choose to rise above, as she did.
With a scowl, my father turns, points his finger, and vows, “I better not find out you told anyone about this or you are in big trouble, so shut up.”
How could someone be so heartless? The repulsive act heaves up a belligerence in me, like yeast in dough. Anger infiltrates every fiber in my body, tipping me mentally off balance. Worthlessness is already deep rooted. The indelible marks of unconscious shame are branded, event by event compounding the guilt I feel. I am traumatized by each horrific, unforgiveable event that haunts me into my adulthood.
Toodle was everything that love and respect represent in the scriptures, while home was stained by an oppressive, degrading family culture. I witnessed Toodle’s forgiveness, peaceful wisdom and resilience. When her puppies died, she showed me how to accept and climb above oppression. One must move forward to survive. Dwelling steals the present and stalls life. We must live for the living. This is what I saw in her. I didn’t then possess her inner strength. But I recognized that I needed what she had. Her tender kindness and sensitivity remain rock solid, serving as a great example to me. She accepted me when my family did not. Being with her grounded me and gave me a sense of belonging.
Author bio: Bonnie Wright has trained performance dogs for twenty-four years. With the goal of passionately improving the lives of dogs and educating the public, Bonnie has harnessed evidence-based research, continuous study, intellect and spiritual intuition. Over the years, the dogs have taught her to take an individualized, holistic approach.
Bonnie graduated from the University of Wisconsin at Eau Claire with a BS degree in education, with a minor in early childhood education. She completed her MBA from Cardinal Stritch University at Milwaukee, Wisconsin. After a successful thirty-five-year career with a major pharmaceutical corporation, Bonnie retired in 2012. Currently, she trains therapy dogs for reading programs and the local Mayo Health System. She and Siri volunteer of their church. She remains an active board member of the Blackhawk Retriever Club 501(c)3 and an AKC performance field judge. She enjoys long walks in the country with her dogs, bicycling, field training and writing.
Diggin’ Up Bones is her first book. She can be reached at her website.
Want more help? I am a memoir coach, memoir teacher and memoir editor. Come see me in any one of my online classes.
Memoirama: Live, 90 minutes. Everything you need to write what you know.
Memoirama 2. Live, two hours. Limited to seven writers. What you need to know to structure a book.
How to Write Opinion Pieces: Op-eds, Radio Essays and Digital Commentary: Live, 90 minutes. Get your voice out into the world.
And keep in mind that I am now taking names for the 2022 Master Class, the prerequisites for which are Memoirama and Memoirama 2. It’s live, once a month, and limited to seven writers who are determined to get a first draft of their book-length memoir finished in six months.
