A Few words about disclaimers…

Disclaimers have been outlawed!  Too bad.  A disclaimer is like modesty- the hesitation before unveiling the soul.  It’s a moment of separation, reminding myself that judgement will be of the work and not of me.  The disclaimer is not so much an insecurity about the quality of the work as an insecurity about the people it is being shown to.  I have little need for disclaimers with my husband.  Sometimes I tell him things about what I’ve written before I read it to him, but we both know that I am setting the stage, drawing back the curtains, lighting the candles before the meal… not hiding behind my hands.  Sometimes a disclaimer is like the tag that says, “Made by Hand,” on a gift.  It says, “This thing that I have made is precious to me.  I am a little afraid to show it to you.  I don’t quite know if it will suit you, but I hope that it will.  Speak softly, you are in the prescence of my heart.”  A disclaimer is dipping your toe in before jumping into the pool.  A disclaimer is humilty, not presuming to think that everyone will like what you’ve done.  A disclaimer is also uncertainty- not knowing if you like what you’ve done!  When a Shakespearian play ends, the last actor on stage comes out and submits a disclaimer in blank verse with a final rhyming couplet.  Even violets are shyly hesitant of their welcome and hang their heads.
     There are honest disclaimers and less honest.  Sometimes we are unable to appreciate the quality of our own work until we come upon it by suprise several days later.  Sometimes we have accidentally unveiled more than we meant to and struggle with shame.  Other times we are practicing the artifice of deflecting criticism by criticising ourselves, on the theory that no one would beat a whipped dog. 
     All of us are trying new things in this class.  We are uncovering private places, secret dreams.  We are facing our fears of criticism, of failure, of insufficiency, of foolishness, of pride…  You can’t judge the difficulty of someone’s writing process by the quality of what they produce.  We are all stretching ourselves to the point of pain.  I watch Melanie Haulman lay on the floor and drop her head on her knee as she stretches.  I can barely bend over my leg.  She produces much more grace, much more stretch, but we are both feeling the same amount of pain as we work to increase our capacity.  If I wrote only what I was comfortable with, I would have no need of a disclaimer.
     Perhaps what we need is not less disclaimers, but a more honest language in them.  Instead of saying, “Oh, this isn’t going to be near as good as yours,” perhaps we need to say, “Writing this really frightened me.  It brought back a lot of pain,” or “This seems really foolish to me.  I couldn’t think of anything deep.”

That said, let me quote a small section from a book I’m reading.  It’s “Pilgrim’s Inn,” by Elizabeth Goudge, and this section is spoken by a great artist to a younger man he’s teaching.

     “You were perhaps right, just then, to turn your board round.  But, generally speaking, don’t do that.  Don’t hide your work.  What you have done you have done and you must take the consequences.”
     “I hate people seeing my stuff,” murmurred Ben.
     “Afraid of being laughed at?  Well, what of it!  Never hide from adverse criticism.  Mockery, indifference, misunderstanding- welcome the lot.  Criticism of your work is much the same as criticism of yourself, you know, your work being an extension of yourself, and there’s nothing like good slashing personal criticism for begetting humility.  A conceited man never yet made a good artist.  How could he?  Satisfied, you stick where you are.”