To Divulge or Not to Divulge Secrets: The Questions I Ask Myself

Secrets. Who doesn’t carry the burden of a secret or two, terrified of letting them spill on the floor and break open in front of the world? Oh, how we protect ourselves from the prying eyes and morbid curiosity of strangers, yes —but also our neighbors, acquaintances, and loved ones!

I’ve been pondering lately, in private and with writing friends, how much, how wide, how deep the disclosure of secrets is appropriate in our work. Let’s be honest: some of my readers love juicy, shocking, or gory details. And they return looking for more. Should secrets be used as marketing bait? What are the moral considerations when those disclosures involve other people, whether alive or dead? And who decides the morality, fairness, or appropriateness of those revelations? Faith leaders, politicians, my boss, my neighbor, my grandmother?

These and many more questions strike the fear of God, vengeful reviewers, and careful editors in my little writer’s heart. It is much easier to avoid sensitive topics and stick with the weather, nature, puppies, and such. But are those themes enough to satisfy our creative urges?

Writing can be a chore easily postponed or avoided by virtue of many natural hurdles. Time and space constraints, a lack of inspiration, health issues, to name only a few, can wreak havoc with our fragile commitment to writing. Fear and anxiety don’t lag far behind, so we must struggle with our deepest motivations for writing if we want to continue our work.

Should I, could I, must I, reveal my own personal struggles over what secrets, large or small, I speak about in a poem, memoir or post? I struggle with these questions often and with every individual piece of work. The answers are as varied as the secrets themselves.

I don’t write to titillate my readers or fill a deep need for personal revelation or revenge. (Not consciously, anyway!) I often write to discover profound truths I hadn’t been able to face up to now, to experience ways to express emotions I didn’t have words for before. I also tell stories that have universal themes and others may be able to relate to. I hope audiences may discover something of personal value to them as they take in and ponder the emotions raised in these readings.

I have to determine, as I write, the ratio of good versus harm that could come out from my admissions. Will the value that readers find counterbalance the embarrassment someone may find when they believe they are the unmentioned subject of the tale? How can I protect the identities of the people involved in order to eliminate the possibility of harming them? In the end, I am the only one that can answer these questions as I decide to publish what I write. I struggle with them every time, and hope that, after careful reflection and a big dose of courage, I bring about more helpful than hurtful outcomes for my readers.

There, that secret is out!