What Gives Me the Write?

By now, you might be wondering why I would to do a such crazy thing like write publicly about myself and my family?

To begin, I can’t remember a time when I didn’t write. Not long after I could spell my own name, I was jotting down thoughts, insights, rants…even some song lyrics I had the small balls to perform in private. Since a was little, journaling has been a part of my self-discovery, and at times a mode of survival. Only in recent years, have I grown bigger balls and begun to share what’s in this bloody heart and mad mind.

For me, the impulse to write has remained so strong that when ignored, the itch becomes unbearable.

While writing is one of my primary passions, the process isn’t always easy or fun. I’ve often referred to writing as a “birthing” of sorts, with accompanying labor and pain.

So why would I want to put myself through such agony? Why would I choose to spend my time alone, banging away at a keyboard, teary-eyed, dredging up old memories and obsessing over getting it write? Why not spend more time at the beach…or having sex…or better yet, having sex on the beach after a shot of Sex on the Beach?

Maybe this inner urge is in the blood. My great grandfather, Gustav Chopin, was so compelled to write during duty in the Franco-Prussian war that he used his own blood as ink to chronicle hundreds of pages of poetry.

My father, Peter, poured much passion and creative energy into a rock opera and science fiction novel, both producing countless highs and horrible lows.

I don’t feel comfortable calling myself a “writer”.  In Hollywood, I’m a mere MAW (Model, Actress, Whatever)…or just another body parts model documenting her existential crisis. I’m not well educated, or even well read. I typically reserve the title of writer for intellectuals, or those commercially successful folks, whose “art” may leave me feeling more ripped off than riveted.

Beyond my lack of credentials, I’ve wrestled most with the question of what will people think of my writing? There are the fears of upsetting someone, looking stupid, or being judged. Yet my own mind remains my biggest critic, keeping me quiet for years, hiding behind my hands.

In the short time writing this blog, I realize everyone has their own read.  What may seem compassionate to someone, may appear harsh to the next. Some people view writing about others as an ultimate honor, while others see it as insensitive.

Each views the world through their unique lens. My stories are told from a personal view, often narrated through the eyes and mind of a child. My perspective personal, so the same tale told by my brother, mother, aunt or cousin would have a different tone and perhaps another recollection altogether.

Thankfully, our country encourages freedom of speech…but of course I, like everyone else, have the right to remain silent.

I believe the best stories are those that include truth. Truth can also be subjective, but I do my best to be honest and open.

If simple facts are your version of truth, then tune into the Science Channel. I’m a storyteller, not a journalist, and therefore less concerned with dry data or arguing over accuracy, but more interested in the potential discovery that comes from interpreting my observations, struggles…and learning.

Originally, my blog was intended as a creative outlet and workshop for an upcoming book. The blog has allowed me to introduce key characters and receive much appreciated feedback. Words can’t express my gratitude to have received such generous support from so many of you, including my wonderful family.

My prayer throughout the process has been to “open hearts” (including my own). Sometimes my heart has been broken open, so I try not to shy from sharing the painful and potentially shameful sides of the story. Most of the time, after I’ve reveal what was once hidden, I feel liberated!

Having lived between cultural polarities, I will strive to honor both sides of the story: the whole picture, light and dark.

If you want sugar coating, tune into Disney…or enjoy a beignet next time you’re in New Orleans…

I’m proud to be part of a rich ancestral legacy, in ALL its glorious humanity. What family remains unscathed by wounds resulting from addiction or depression, abuse, incest, misunderstood sexuality, mental illness and the sorrow of personal loss…?

I’ve always been drawn to biographies, documentaries and interviews since real stories are more riveting to me than fiction. Maybe some reality TV, is popular because we’re all looking for a reflection of ourselves in each other, or looking to each other to find ourselves…that universal thread that’s revealed not only within the nuclear family, but the global one.

So what gives me the right to write? I do. I’m the one who can grant permission to make myself vulnerable, and in so doing, I can’t ask others for sanction or what my voice should sound like.

But if I could write an ideal “ending” (the ultimate outcome of my efforts), I would wish that I might inspire others who have remained similarly in secret, join me in coming out of the creative closet.

With every part and all my heart,
Adele

“Have the courage to follow your heart and intuition.” -Steve Jobs

 

Handy Tip

Nothing offers a quicker more refreshing pick-me-up than the fine mist of Evian’s mineral water facial spray.

I keep a canister at my desk, to restore vital moisture to my skin, while allowing me to dream if only for a brief moment that I’m journeying high into the pristine Alps…or sitting quietly in the sanctuary of a revitalizing French spa.

Très magnifique!