For decades I didn’t file any of my sexual experiences under the label rape. After all, no one applied physical force—the sex was always consensual. Nor was I comfortable using the label statutory rape, even though when I was a minor, all my sexual partners were not. At the time, I knew what I was doing—I wanted it.
I set out to work on my second memoir. And got stuck. Nothing gelled. I wrote dreck. It was as if a hex was laid on me. Writing became a chore. In my aspirations to become a multi-book author, I stubbornly persisted. Judy tried to help—she offered advice and suggested projects that might work better.
I wanted to address the topic of coming to terms with my parents’ descent into old age, their ailing bodies and minds. I needed to explore my mourning over losing the parents I knew and loved. But my emotions were too raw.
Poems help say the unsayable and writing prompts help trigger a foray into the danger zone. A different point of view, clustering, or bouncing ideas off another writer can also help. So far, eventually I do end pushing my way into the story. I’m stubborn that way.
Writers also rose to the challenge. Online writers’ groups emerged, helping create structure and accountability. Freelance writers, in an attempt to boost paying online gigs offered introductory or beginner workshops and webinars at reduced prices. Some were actually free. The world opened up to me and with it my life as a writer.