Every pen has to cope with the personality of its wielder. If our pens could talk, they would be able to tell a great deal about us: Mine would inform you that I do not have a consistent time when I write, nor do I have a set period for which I write. No word quota, no tally.
I do, however, have a large pile to go through today... tidbits of ideas, things to be edited, things to be elaborated on, and probably plenty of things that should never see the light of day. This morning, I found that pile intimidating: the accumulated questions and observations from months of experiences. Now, I've begun to see them as seeds sown and grown to the right height for harvest.
My pen would tell all sorts of embarrassing stories about me: about how this is the first year I've let strangers critique my poetry, that I was so nervous before my first poetry reading a couple months ago that I practiced casual anecdotes to open with... my pen would be a complete ass about the whole thing.
My pen would tell all sorts of embarrassing stories about me: about how this is the first year I've let strangers critique my poetry, that I was so nervous before my first poetry reading a couple months ago that I practiced casual anecdotes to open with... my pen would be a complete ass about the whole thing.
Yet, there are many things my pen does not yet know about. There are some experiences I've yet to record, barely touched on, for the same reason I'm on a hiatus from taking photos for the time being. I realized I was beginning to see the world through a frame, and every scene or sunset was instantly undergoing rectangular surgery in my cookie-cutter mind, before I'd even had time to enjoy it.
Similarly, writing can become a dangerous opponent of itself, especially when guilt sets in for any days we spend neglecting our pens for friends and other ventures. Just recently, one of my writing cohorts expressed dismay at how much time he was spending in the woods while in Colorado, saying it was not conducive to his writing. When I asked what this meant, he said that the happiness he felt in just experiencing nature was not immediately turning a word-count-profit. This, I reminded him, was not evidence of his failings as a writer, but rather an investment we should all be making. Part of writing should be allowing yourself to live: to enjoy the world without constantly looking for ways to chop it into narrative.
Strangely, I think the best metaphor for why this is true is found in quantum physics: the study of things very very small. When measuring a particle so small that it no longer obeys the rules of physics that we're familiar with, the act of looking at it changes where it is and where it's going. At first, this may sound nonsensical, but consider that, in order to "see" anything, a photon (light particle) has to hit that thing and return to your eye. On the quantum scale, that's like trying to measure the position of a balloon by hitting it with a tennis ball. You may know where the balloon once was a moment ago, but wherever that was, it's no longer there. The act of measuring, unto itself, changes the thing you are measuring, not unlike trying to take the temperature of a test tube of warm water with a thermometer. The relatively cool temperature of the thermometer itself will affect the temperature of the water, causing the water to cool before it can be measured.
Similarly, as David Shields wrote, "The moment you start to arrange the world in words, you alter its nature. The words themselves suggest patterns and connections that seemed at the time to be absent from the events the words describe." This abstraction/subjection of the world into words is a necessary framing in order to relay meaning, and though writers know perfectly well the limitations and inaccuracies of words, they are what we have to work with. Words can be essential toward helping us notice things about moments we would not have otherwise. Yet, how many moments with friends have been spoiled by my disengagement from conversation as I ponder how I would begin describing the details of the room to give a certain pace to the dialogue? (The dialogue that is different now, because of my lack of participation.)
And though there are no easy solutions to this issue of balancing our experiences and the words that translate them into meaning, I've come to believe, with a tip-of-the-hat to Ecclesiastes 3,
There is a time to experience, and a time to write.
Striking a balance between embracing life as something to be lived primarily, and something to be written about secondarily, is something I've obviously yet to master. And, especially in the case of narrative journalism, some scenes must be written about on-the-spot. I can't say that I recommend that every writer model themselves after my literary lifestyle, or that allowing oneself to wait to write until I they feel it is time would be wise for every writing project. But, I can say with some certainty that there is wisdom in allowing for seasons of sowing and seasons of harvest.
To neglect letting oneself simply take in life with no looming guilt or expectations now and then is to forget the young writer we started out as: just a kid with a pen who had a lot of things on his mind and no one to talk to about them. Writing as an extension of self is as important to practice as writerly discipline, and my pen could certainly tell you about how I could use a good dose of BOTH right about now.
Thank goodness, my pen keeps its secrets until pressed.
Wonderful post, Becca. I heartily agree with your conundrum. Emily Dickinson may have been able to be a recluse and generate lasting poetry, but that's not going to work for everyone. Some of us need to go have some experiences (fill our tanks, so to speak) so that we're fresh and ready to pick up that pen with renewed vigor. Will we ever stop looking at every situation as a potential story? Probably not. But I think that may just be okay. It's just in our genes. But we certainly don't need to feel guilty for a little rest. Solomon was right . . . there's a right ("write") time for everything!
ReplyDelete"My pen keeps its secrets until pressed" is one of the most satisfying puns I've read in quite a while. I'm a bit curious about the "his" in the previous paragraph, though.
ReplyDelete:) I'm so glad you liked that. I was worried it would go overlooked.
DeleteGood catch! It's a weird stylistic thing I do. I always write pronouns in the opposite gender as my way of inclusion. "His/her" lacks a feeling of relatability, and using my own gender could sound like it is in reference to myself.
I read this when I can't think of anything to do.
ReplyDeleteSo, thank you for the anti-block
:P
This makes me feel less alone. When I think about writers, I often picture the old, romanticized notion that I once had back before I actually knew anyone who read, let alone wrote. Although I now know better, I can't escape the image of a man with tiny glasses and a black turtleneck talking about the importance of every moment when met with the might of the pen, or some such mumbojumbo. That image makes me feel guilty when I lie down at night and realize that I lived the day for myself, purely for the experience, and not the narrative, but we are people first, and people need to live. Besides, we have memories. We can draw on them when it's time to put pen to paper, or perhaps fingers to keys.
ReplyDelete(Beautiful post!)
Oh man, I can't believe I've never read this before.
ReplyDeleteI could not agree more on allowing yourself to live. My first semester here at Ball State was terrible. I had just come from a place where my writing was praised almost unanimously and then had to go to workshop classes where I had to see that my writing was not at par with my peers *every day*. It was very discouraging. Very jarring. I locked myself in my room, night after night, forcing myself to write slop because I felt I needed the practice. I grew to hate Muncie because it seemed so dull to me, I blamed the city for my lack of creative inspiration.
And then something happened and it just clicked: the city wasn't the problem. It was me. How could I find things to write about if all I did was sit in my room and think? How could I expect myself to tell stories if I wasn't living any? So I started forcing myself out of bed, and even into social situations that I found to be very uncomfortable (and often made me feel physically ill). But it's definitely made a great positive impact on my mood and my writing.
That's awesome, and I'm glad you and I figured all of this out early on in our writing careers, because I think it's an essential realization. I view writing as a direct bi-product of living.
DeleteThey say, "write what you know," which to me, is akin to "you are what you eat." I suppose to put those two together, "you write what you live and imagine."
Great, memorable characters are written by people who have known great, memorable people. No fiction is without some source of true experience in there somewhere... although that may just be my biased opinion as a nonfiction writer. ;)