Occasionally, I like to trot out and test-drive the emotional impact of my writing on real people. I’ve had a range of reactions. Sometimes the reader is amused, aghast, or apoplectic (Well, not really the third one but the alliteration was too tempting to pass up).

Does the writing elicit the response I was going for? Laughter. Tears. Outrage. Or does it elicit another type of response? Confusion. Disinterest. Boredom. I would die of mortification if my writing caused someone to die of boredom. Honest to God, my worst fear. Or one of them anyway. I would never recover.

That said, I have shared snippets of my intended book right here in this blog. The Ladies Lunch piece? Remember that. A cousin was good enough to write to let me know that the scene rang true to its time and place. She also said my words were “vibrant.” I liked that. Another dear author friend told me that another blog post I wrote elicited “two titters” out of a possible three. That is, it made him laugh. If you understood this guy’s sense of humor, you’d know what high praise that is for my post.

And then there is the person with whom I shared some of the darker issues that will be explored in my memoir. She almost reflexively advised me that “she worries” I will be at risk in the family of deepening old wounds or aggravating new ones. I’m not disagreeing with her. But what I know for sure is that keeping the truth and deeply scarring emotional wounds hidden is much more damaging and dangerous than hurting the perpetrators’ feelings.

That particular response, unsurprisingly, came from someone in the very society I struggled so hard to escape. It spoke volumes about the collective worldview we were raised in. “Be nice.” “Don’t tell.””Never say shit even if you have a mouthful.” I’ll say more about that worldview later. Much more.