How Ghosts, Activism and a Psychic Saved My Writing: Reflections on keeping the faith
Like so many authors with full-time day jobs, my writing time was limited, rigorously scheduled and precious. I wrote in the spare moments my busy psychotherapy practice allowed me.
And then I had an opportunity to take a three-month sabbatical.
Just before the break, I had arranged for a few people to read a draft of my third novel, All Inclusive. I’d thought it was nearly done and planned to use their input to edit and revise during those three months.
Everyone replied with negative feedback. No one had a clear idea of why the story wasn’t working, but the consensus was that it just—vaguely—wasn’t. My agent at the time shook her head and said, “I give you permission to abandon this project.”
Needless to say, I began my writing sabbatical in a funk. I had no idea how to fix the book and wondered if my agent was right. Adding to my distress was performance anxiety; I’d had some success with my previous novel, and I feared that I wouldn’t be able to replicate those achievements. Would I ever make an awards short-list or get invited to festivals again?
After two and half months of being blocked, I was invited to teach an emerging writers’ workshop at the public library. The participants responded enthusiastically to the creativity exercises. For them, writing was play. They weren’t yet consumed with fears about sales statistics, year-end “best book” lists and reviews. The workshop was like drinking a youth tonic.
As I rode my bike home, careening down one of the hills that surround Toronto’s High Park, I heard an insistent voice in my head. I stopped, pulled over, listened. He told me he was my missing character and then shared his story with me. Over the following weeks, I took notes while he narrated. I deleted another character, and Azeez seamlessly slipped into the gaps. He saved my novel.
Many writers will tell you similar tales about “hearing” whole paragraphs or poems.
Might it be possible that this is how all stories come to us? Turning toward this idea makes me feel less alone in the quiet, solitary moments of writing. And the words flow more easily.
2015-18
In 2015, women from my Dawoodi Bohra community began speaking out against khatna, a form of female genital cutting that is practiced by our small community. The Indian media listened, and amplified their stories. I joined this feminist movement and felt pulled to write a book about it.
Over the following two years, while I drafted the novel, I came to terms with my own long-suppressed traumatic memories of khatna. Bits and pieces spilled onto the page, even before I could fully acknowledge that they were my own experiences.
At one point, I nearly gave up because:
- Writing about trauma is painful. Each time I looped back to edit a difficult scene, I returned to my grief.
- While I’d been an activist already for two years, I’d worked behind the scenes. However, I knew that once the book was published, I’d need to be more public-facing. Did I want people to know I was a survivor? Was I prepared for the potential backlash from community and family who wouldn’t want this ‘dirty laundry’ aired?
In order to continue writing, I had to keep reconnecting with the inspiration, the “big why” of the book. I wanted to write about the women in my community and make a contribution to the movement to end khatna. This sense of purpose got me through the pain and fear that continuously bubbled up.
The novel, now called Seven, was released on Sept 5th, and I’m so grateful for it.
2019-20
My friend referred me to an Akashic practitioner who does “soul readings” (you might want to Google that; I’m not sure I can explain it). You already know that I believe in ghosts, so this wasn’t really a stretch for me.
Juliette told me that 75% of my soul’s purpose is to express and share ideas. Only 25% is for healing others. She advised me to try to align to these percentages, if I can.
I write most mornings, but my psychotherapy work, tends to grab at least half my work time these days. And while I love working with clients, like most writers, I have craved, wished, aspired to write more.
Juliette’s advice was like a cheerleading team in a pyramid formation, chanting my name.
I hope there always be a voice calling out to me, saving my writing.
—
Farzana Doctor is the Toronto-based author of four novels: Stealing Nasreen, Six Metres of Pavement, All Inclusive, and Seven. Farzana was recently named one of CBC Books’ “100 Writers in Canada You Need To Know Now”. She is also an activist, part-time psychotherapist and amateur tarot card reader.
@farzanadoctor
A rich, soulfully written novel about inheritance and resistance that tests the balance between modern and traditional customs.
When Sharifa accompanies her husband on a marriage-saving trip to India, she thinks that she’s going to research her great-great-grandfather, a wealthy business leader and philanthropist. What captures her imagination is not his rags-to-riches story, but the mystery of his four wives, missing from the family lore. She ends up excavating much more than she had imagined.
Sharifa’s trip coincides with a time of unrest within her insular and conservative religious community, and there is no escaping its politics. A group of feminists is speaking out against khatna, an age-old ritual they insist is female genital cutting. Sharifa’s two favourite cousins are on opposite sides of the debate, and she seeks a middle ground. As the issue heats up, Sharifa discovers an unexpected truth and is forced to take a position.
Category: Contemporary Women Writers, How To and Tips
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