By Sandra Hager Eliason
I woke up mad at Writing.
Writing Personified. Anthropomorphized.
Writing, this companion and friend who has traveled with me, accompanied me for coffee, shared my most intimate thoughts and wildest dreams, has lured me into a relationship it refuses to consummate. It flirted with me, took me on a few dates after we became better acquainted, then nothing. And now I am stuck with a presence that consumes me but will not love me back in the same passionate way I love it.
I spent 30-plus years practicing medicine, working to perfect my art and practice, incorporating the latest concepts, and applying them to patients. As I considered retiring, I submitted a piece to the Minnesota Medicine magazine writing contest, and won. This encouraged me to transition to writing, translating people’s medical stories to the page to underscore their humanity and medicine’s foibles. I applied as much energy to the craft of writing as I had to studying medicine, and worked to perfect the art and practice.
I was lucky that my husband supported me in this new career the same way he had in my last, giving me time to write, revise, submit, repeat. And I was lucky early on that a few pieces were accepted for publication. It made me feel good; smug even; probably a little cocky. I loved this new entity, Writing, and put all my efforts into writing a memoir. Then reality hit. After three years of writing, as many revising and editing, enduring the grueling process of creating a book proposal, and beginning to query, my lover left me hanging. Lots of requests for more after pitches, then silence.
I crawled away to lick my wounds, then tried a new tack. Essays. More essays. From my perspective as a doctor/patient/advocate, I thought I could write about the medical system from all sides. Again, I had some luck. But while memoir writing had felt like a relationship with a lover, my essays behaved like unruly children, refusing to cooperate. My ideas pour out, scattering themselves, following tangents. I trail behind them, picking up the pieces, wondering where they fit in the theme . But the ideas keep wailing at me like a three-year-old’s tantrum. I snap my computer shut, sending each naughty child to its room for a time out.
Writing is necessarily solitary. Endeavoring to translate the amorphous material in your brain to the linear progression of words on paper, it’s easy to become lost in the space between idea and finished product. It takes other writers to advise and guide the process. After retirement, I needed to find these supports. I attended as many writing groups and conferences as I could, seeking a community of writing friends. It took a while, but eventually I found writerly places to belong. And writing groups to call upon. My various writers’ circles help curate my ideas, taming their proliferation into a manageable thread, telling me what the reader understands of my words and which themes resonate. Writing group members give me pointers about taming my messy offspring, commiserate with me over rejections and the disappointment of misbehaving thoughts, and bring consolation, encouragement, and redirection, seeing me through the rough spots.
I woke up mad at Writing—and then, an email, another expected rejection, said an essay of mine had been accepted in Best American Essays 2023 . After my happy dance, I needed to acknowledge those who had read this piece, tamed it with me, given me constructive feedback and advice. They are my heroes.
I am still a little mad at writing, but just enough to send me back to the computer to begin my memoir revisions once again, knowing that when needed, I’ll get by with a little help from my friends.
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Sandra Hager Eliason is a retired family physician who has turned to write full time. In 2016, she won the Minnesota Medicine Magazine Arts Edition writing contest, and her story “Rough Ride,” originally in West Trade Review, is forthcoming in Best American Essays 2023 . She is a finalist for the 2023 Plenitudes Prize , and is anthologized in True Stories About Love Vol. 2, and others. Her essays have appeared in Bluestem, The Linden Review , and Brevity Blog. She is a book reviewer for Hippocampus Magazine . Dr. Eliason lives with her husband in Minneapolis, Minnesota, where she has a garden in the summer and a cat to warm her lap in the winter. Look for her on Instagram or on her webpage .
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