Pictured: Me with one of my many writing notebooks

When I was in 9th grade English class, I — like many others — had to read The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde. Now, as a whole, you don’t need to be particularly familiar with this tale of a man’s fall into hedonism to understand why I bring this up. The part that first stuck out to me came far, far earlier than any of the selfishness, drugs, murder, and depravity that happens later the story. In fact, the line I’m about to talk about was in the very first chapter.

It was something said during the novel’s first exchange between the painter, Basil, and his friend, Lord Henry. If you’ve ever read it, you may remember that, upon seeing a completed portrait of Dorian Gray done by Basil, Henry insisted that Basil should exhibit it. Basil refuted the idea, claiming that there was too much of himself in the painting.

Although this was not a remark that Henry initially understood, a few hundred words later, Basil somberly confessed this:

“…every portrait that is painted with feeling is a portrait of the artist, not of the sitter…The reason I will not exhibit this picture is that I am afraid that I have shown with it the secret of my own soul.”

— The Picture of Dorian Gray, Oscar Wilde

Perhaps it is a bit melodramatic, but I digress. I was fourteen and very much in the depths of first discovering my artistic voice in relation to others, and this line has stuck with me over these past few years since I’ve first read it. Now, no more literature class — I promise.

This concept of the art being a reflection of the artist is as old as time, and a theme of running debate. Especially if you’re a person who creates art, you likely understand the notion to some degree. But what do you do if some part of you wants others to see your creations, but most of the things you make fall into that category of ‘too personal to share’?

Well, I am a very private person, and this is not a secret if you know me. Generally, I’ve dealt with people not being able to fully understand why, particularly with regard to my creative pursuits, as they view my work and see something that I can’t and might not ever. And oftentimes, the problem isn’t that I think the piece of writing is bad. Actually, many times, I’m quite fond and even proud of it. It’s actually the bigger issue: I can see myself in-between the lines.

Usually, this feeling doesn’t come from a memoir or personal poetry or anything — it’s just a fictional story where you probably can’t tell what I could be referring to unless you truly know me. Sometimes, you won’t even know then, because there are things hidden there that are so convoluted, vague, or personal that I am the only one who could ever know. But that’s enough.

I am in there, hiding in plain sight. And this can hold value that you could never see just by reading it. Even when I write about things ‘detached’ from me, you don’t know how much of me is in there. Is that a good thing? Eh, maybe sometimes, but it’s mostly a roadblock in my case. I find myself more afraid to share my writing because of it, sometimes even with my friends and family.

How does one reconcile the feeling of nakedness of letting people see those things they’ve held so dear to their heart for so long? Well, you have to suck it up and share it anyway, or don’t.

So, many times, I still don’t.

I’m Afraid to Share My Writing

A lot of advice I see given to aspiring writers (like me) who ask about overcoming fear of sharing is generally, “Get over it and put it out there, or give up because you’re never going to get anywhere if no one can see your work.” Boiled down to its most basic components, sure, that’s true, but it turns the situation into a pass/fail that it might not have to be. If I don’t share it, then I’ve given up, and I fail. Sure, maybe the stakes would be that high if I forfeited all other paths to be an author and now it’s do or die, but trust me, that’s not how my life is going. So, I ask myself a series of softer questions, like:

• Do I want recognition more than I want to keep this to myself?
• Do I want recognition badly enough to let people criticize this?
• Do I want recognition badly enough that I can put the work in to actually promote this?

The answers to these questions are most often ‘no’, and sometimes one will even be ‘hell no!’ This is where I respond by backing down, or at least lowering the stakes, because I’ve determined that my heart isn’t in it. Now, I’m not just private: I’m also stubborn when I so desire. I don’t hold firm often, but no one can ever truly convince me to do something I don’t want to do — not even myself! And here’s where my fourth questions enters:

• Can I come back to this in six months and see how I feel then?

Usually, the answer to this one is ‘yes’, and the answers to the other questions will also manage to soften in that time. I do have youth on my side here, so I suppose when I say, “Wait — I’m not ready!”, I feel pretty comfortable deciding to come back later to reassess. The biggest things I’ve found I have to accept about it all are that:

• It’s okay to not be ready, or at least to not be right now.
• Knowing my priorities is more intuitive than any stock advice anyone could ever give me.
• I have to do this for me, and no one else.

I don’t purport myself to be any sort of advice column with lifestyle tips, because I consider myself under-qualified for any such task — I haven’t left my teens yet and I’m very stuck in my emotions — but I will say what I’ve found to be useful to determine for myself.

Searching for advice is only as helpful as what you’re willing to find. If I’m set in my ways already, then good ole confirmation bias will set in and I’ll only hear the advice that tells me what I want to hear. So I have now resolved to spend productive time with myself, understanding how I tick and what I actually want. It’s about understanding that I might not find the golden advice that will really push me one way or the other. Sometimes, it really is just me. If not publishing my work makes me feel relieved, but ashamed, I want to understand where the shame comes from.

Do I really want to post this but stopped because of fear? Do I actually want others to read this, or do I just feel like it’s worth less if no one else ever sees it?

It’s not really about concrete, black-and-white answers. It’s about putting feelings into perspective, and giving myself the room to feel confident enough in my own judgement to be able to say, “You know what? I don’t want other people to read this right now, even though I think it’s good.”

It’s about accepting that what worked for other people might not work for me. Someone else might’ve wanted success enough that they motored through the worst of their fear and now have no regrets, but if the thought of someone else seeing something I posted makes me feel so nervous that it makes me nauseous (and this has happened before), only I can decide if it’s worth it. I always end up feeling more comfortable with the result if I come back when I actually want to do something.

And, in the end, I need to believe in my own choices, because if I don’t, who will?

— Dee