Aside from working as a book coach, I am a hobby beekeeper, AND I am highly allergic to bee stings. (Most insect bites cause a disproportionate reaction, but bee stings in particular require a cortisone shot—stat.)
Why would I continue to keep bees when it’s a potentially life-threatening activity for me? I have a similar question for people who live on the slopes of Etna or Vesuvius, or who continue to build multi-million-dollar homes on barrier islands that are hit by hurricanes on a yearly basis, or who wrestle crocodiles.
My answer—and I imagine their answer—is the rewards are greater than the risk.
Beekeeping is a gentle reminder of cooperation and collaboration for the greater good. They pollinate the flowers and fruit trees in the garden. And there’s the honey.
So, I continue to keep bees. Each spring the queen begins laying eggs for new brood and prepares to swarm. The existing queen will lay an egg for a new queen and just before the new queen chews through her capped cell and emerges, the reigning queen will fly off with twenty or thirty thousand workers in search of a new home. The swarm lands on a nearby branch or fence while a few scout bees look for a permanent home. As beekeepers, my husband and I do our best to capture the swarm from the branch or fence before they fly further away to build their new hive. Year by year, swarm by swarm, we expanded our aviary from one to ten hives. We’ve given swarms to a local woman interested in becoming a beekeeper. And some swarms, well, get away from us.
The swarm is a big party for the bees, so the chances of being stung while capturing the swarm are slim. Nonetheless, I wear a bee suit and two layers of clothing under it. Even so, a few weeks ago we were capturing a swarm and somehow a bee crawled inside my suit. (I still don’t know how as there are no holes in my suit.) I saw a bee in my peripheral vision and realized she was walking across the net in front of my face. I slowly distanced myself from the swarm and pulled the net as far from my face as possible. Once I was a safe distance away, I unzipped the jacket and slowly removed it, shaking the bee free in the process. I was surprisingly calm, and worst case, my husband would have had to administer the cortisone shot if necessary. It was a semi-close call, so why continue beekeeping?
The rewards of keeping bees for me are greater than the risk.
The same can be said of writing, especially memoir. Why would anyone bare their soul, their secrets, their shame?
The rewards are greater than the risk.
When you write memoir, you explore the meaning beneath the events in your life. That meaning allows you to connect with readers, maybe create a community, and connection is what life’s about, isn’t it? We’re all in this together.
The first question I ask clients when we begin working together is why do you want to write this book? Writing is hard, it’s time-consuming, it’s lonely at times. You need to think about the personal rewards that justify the risks for you. The rewards motivate you to keep going, to return to the page time and again.
Writing, like any creative endeavor, requires courage, but you don’t have to be fearless. Fear provides the resistance that strengthens your courage. If you’re scared to write your story, think about the other risks: the risk of skating on the surface of life without ever understanding what flows beneath, the risk of not making connections with others whom you’ve touched with your story, the risk of never really knowing yourself.
The reward of a life fully lived is greater than those risks.
What risks are you taking with your writing, and what rewards motivate you to continue?
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