Putting Myself Foward

I've spent a lot of time this week pressing submit.

And I don't think we talk enough about how bloody terrifying that can be.

I've been working on an application for Writing Well, while at the same time going back through a memoir I originally wrote in 2021, ready to send that out into the world too.

Two very different pieces of writing, but both have made me feel incredibly vulnerable.

Because applying for something means putting yourself forward.

It means saying, I think I'm good enough for this.

And then giving somebody else the opportunity to tell you that you're not.

Or at least, that's how rejection can feel.

I know logically that rejection doesn't mean I'm not good enough. There are limited places, different criteria, different people making decisions. I know all of that.

But there's still that little voice.

What if they don't want me?

What if my writing isn't good enough?

What if I'm not experienced enough?

And when you're sending off something as personal as a memoir, it feels even bigger.

Going back through mine hasn't just been about correcting tenses, cutting words and deciding where a comma should go.

I've had to go back there.

Back into experiences I lived through. Back into memories I haven't necessarily forgotten, but don't visit very often anymore.

Some of it has been difficult to read.

There have been moments when I've almost forgotten that the woman on those pages is me.

And then there have been moments when I've remembered exactly what something felt like.

That's the strange thing about writing about the past. You can know you're safe in the present and still feel an echo of who you were when it happened.

But something else happened while I was reading it.

I started looking at the woman I am now.

And I'm really fucking proud of her.

Not because everything is perfect. It isn't.

Not because I've got everything figured out. I definitely haven't.

But because of what I've built from everything that came before.

I write.

I facilitate.

I create spaces for other people to find their words.

I run Llangollen Spoken Word.

I work within my community.

I have ideas and, more importantly, I'm actually doing something with them.

And while I've been worrying about these new applications, I've also been planning Gathering Stories, Growing Voices.

That's important, because that project exists because I applied for funding.

And I got the yes.

Now something that once existed as an idea in my head is becoming six weeks of actual workshops. A group of people coming together each week to write, reflect, share stories and explore their voices. They'll each have their own journal, and we'll have time and space to see what grows from those six weeks together.

I've been working out dates, thinking about the sessions and starting to invite people to commit to the full programme.

That's the other side of applying for things that we perhaps forget when we're frightened of rejection.

Sometimes they say yes.

And then you get to turn the words you wrote in an application form into something real.

Someone trusted my idea enough to fund it.

That's quite a thing to stop and acknowledge.

Especially while I'm filling in another application and questioning myself all over again.

Maybe we never completely get rid of that doubt.

Maybe every new application brings a little bit of it back.

Because Writing Well is asking me to look at where I am now as a creative practitioner and where I want to go next.

My memoir has made me look in completely the opposite direction.

Backwards.

Back to a life that feels both incredibly close and very far away.

So I've found myself standing somewhere in the middle of the two.

The woman I was.

The woman I am.

The woman I'm still becoming.

And perhaps Gathering Stories, Growing Voices sits somewhere in there too.

Because so much of what I do now is about giving people opportunities to tell their stories, use their voices and put something onto a page that perhaps they've carried around for years.

I know what writing can uncover.

I've just spent days proving that to myself.

I might get rejected.

From one. From both.

That's the risk.

And yes, I'll probably be gutted if that happens. I'm not going to pretend I'll receive a rejection email and immediately start spouting inspirational quotes about how everything happens for a reason.

I might swear.

I might sulk.

I might have a glass of wine.

But I'll have still done it.

I put myself forward.

I went back into my past and brought something out of it.

I looked at what I'm doing now and said, This matters.

And somewhere amongst all of that, I'm preparing to begin a project that reminds me exactly why putting yourself forward is worth the risk.

Because sometimes the answer is no.

But sometimes somebody says yes.

And an idea becomes a room full of people, journals open, stories being written and voices being heard.

Whatever comes back from these latest applications, nobody gets to take away what I've already built.

Sometimes success isn't getting the yes.

Sometimes it's finally believing you're allowed to ask.

There's something else I've been thinking about too.

Space.

Not another workshop. Not another course. Not something that needs an outcome at the end of it.

Just a couple of hours a week at the Heritage Lock-Up where creatives can come together and quietly get on with whatever they're working on.

Writing. Applications. Editing. Planning. Drawing. Creating.

Sometimes working for yourself or being creative can actually be quite lonely. You can spend hours at home trying to motivate yourself, getting distracted by everything around you or just wishing there was somebody else in the room doing the same thing.

I'd love to create a little bit of space for that.

No pressure to talk. No expectation to share what you're working on. No need to produce anything.

Just bring your work, sit alongside other creative people and get on with it.

A bit of quiet company.

Maybe that's another thing I'm learning about myself and the work I want to do.

I don't always need to be leading something.

Sometimes I can simply help create the space for it to happen.

And my next step?

Getting ready to put myself forward all over again and submit my application for Representing Wales.

Wish me luck.