20 Ways to Make It Better — Way #4

#4. Tell The Truth

Every time you write you have an opportunity to tell the truth and sometimes it’s only through writing that you can know the truth. This may be one of the reasons we write in the first place.

Writing a truth sets up a physical commotion: there’s a humming deep in the throat, little hairs on the back of the neck rise and tremble, goose pimples (my grandmother called them “truth bumps”) freckle the arms. Breathing changes. A sudden craving for M&Ms. This is why it’s good to be tuned into your body while you write. “This is important,” it’s saying. “Pay attention.”

As a writer, you must be willing to go to the scary places that cause your hand to tremble and your handwriting to get a little out of control. I can tell when I’m getting to a dangerous place of truth-telling: my handwriting gets smaller and smaller. Once I wrote “scaredy cat” in the margin of my notebook when I saw I was cheating the truth.

We must be willing to tell our secrets, to expose ourselves to ourselves and to be vulnerable on the page. It’s risky but if you don’t write the truth, you’re chancing writing that is glib, shallow or bland.

When I talk about telling the truth, I’m not talking about confessional writing or bringing all the skeletons out of the closets. This isn’t about the condition of anyone’s laundry. It’s about being an honest writer. I’m not referring to the factual truth we expect from journalists either, but an emotional truth. This kind of truth is an intimacy, really, between you and the page, an honesty with yourself and ultimately, with your readers.

Writing the truth is always a challenge to the writer. This is what Andre Dubus said: “While writing — that’s when I face the exposure. . . . That’s when I always have to bear down and try to write as closely to what is the truth as I can feel it with my senses and with my heart.”