On Writing
Sometimes these things are hard to write. And not always for the same reasons.
Sometimes, it’s because there’s too much deep emotion involved, serious personal stuff that has to be wrestled with.
Other times, it’s because I’m trying to tackle a subject that just isn’t finished cooking yet, and I finally have to put it aside and try another.
And then there are times like this past week, when the difficulty is simply that I enjoy the act of writing too much - the delving for bits of truth, the complex interconnection of ideas and questions, and ideas that breed new questions, and questions that breed new ideas...
Realizing that I was behind schedule posting (not surprising during this month full of holiday-busy-crazy), I started to toss off something simple and straightforward about my pleasure in being part of my church’s abridged “readers’ version” production of “A Christmas Carol” - the satisfaction in finally getting to test my theatrical “chops” (for various complicated reasons, I have never dared to get involved in theater, despite long-held interest), and just the fun of being part of it...
... and before I knew it, that “simple and straightforward” little personal update had started turning into a serious exploration of the concept of performance, involving Shakespeare, Victor Turner, the theatrical conventions of ancient Rome, the nature and function of masks, and the “playing” of modern gender roles. Yeah, right. Needless to say, that one won’t be the quick and easy write I was aiming for! It’s on a back burner, to simmer a little more for a future post, probably in a month or so when all the seasonal insanities and inanities are past...
And so today, instead, I am going to just go ahead and write about writing. Which feels very meta - but hey, meta is “in” these days, doncha know!
You see, I’ve learned something interesting about myself by doing this blog. Well, a number of interesting things, but one thing in particular as regards the actual writing process. I’ve learned that I am inherently an Essayist. Who knew?
Well... probably my professors knew. And anyone who’s ever actually read any of those long, involved e-mails that I tend to churn out (as opposed to those of who who just skim... and you know who you are, LOL... :D).
But I don’t just mean that I’m long-winded (though, as you may have noticed, I am). I’m talking about the Essay as a literary form. Even my informal writing (e-mail, or snail mail back in the olden days) has always tended toward being essay-structured: thesis and synthesis and argumentation, point/counterpoint (counterpoint-point-counterpoint... sorry, my fellow choir members will get that joke), and often multiple drafts even of a “friendly letter,” restructuring the whole to try and say better what I wished to say... rewording, reframing, trying to get closer and closer to the core of an idea, a feeling, an experience, a question.
This is my processing mode - to form and re-form thoughts until they begin to approximate truth of some sort.
I’ve long known that writing is a form of processing for me... but not just any kind of writing. I’ve tried journaling, which is supposed to be the writer’s tool par excellence, on multiple occasions and in multiple forms - keeping a diary, doing “morning pages” a la Julia Cameron, etc. - and it does absolutely nothing for me. I can pour words onto a page that way, but they just don’t seem to engage, with me or with each other. They don’t do what I really need them to do. They don’t take root and shift my mental ground, alter the soil, shoot up and branch off and bear fruit.
My last attempt at any form of journaling was following a class on UU spiritual practices, this past year. I’d really hoped I could make a go of it, because I’d begun to feel the need for some sort of consistent spiritual practice in my life - something to both ground me and prod me toward more growth. Alas, it was “no go.” I wondered, am I just too lazy? Not determined enough?
But no. I think it’s just not my method. Because, for whatever reason, for me, it’s in the RE-writing that insights happen.
It begins with: How do I say something that’s true, even if it’s only a piece of a larger something? And it continues with a strong determination not to get lured away from that aim by the many games that language can play.
As a songwriter, I learned years ago not to get distracted by pretty words, those brilliant (or seemingly brilliant) turns of phrase that you feel very proud of and attached to. I have many times had the immense frustration of cutting out entire verses of what felt to me like extremely well-written and clever lyrics... because as the opus progressed, I realized that those words were a sidetrack, a distraction from the central concept or story or imagery of the piece. I learned - painfully! - to be faithful to the core of the work, and put aside anything that didn’t truly advance its cause.
This is Not Fun. But it is necessary, if words are to be a communication of one’s truth, and not just a game to convert, entertain, or impress others. (Not that those games aren’t fun, at other times and in other places.)
Songwriting is a deeply spiritual thing for me, but it isn’t something I do all the time. It happens in fits and starts, and it takes an immense amount of focus and energy. (To explain this, I should mention that I have never had any great interest in tossing off a bunch of “Ooo baby don’t leave me” tunes; I compose when some really deep need or feeling or idea needs to be expressed, and mainly in the aftermath of certain kinds of profound personal and spiritual experiences.) It’s also slightly dangerous - or maybe more than slightly - because of the immersion factor... I should not be allowed to drive a car when I’m songwriting. ( I’ve had several close calls because I got lost in a mental space that had nothing to do with the fast-moving physical world around me and my fast-moving vehicle.) So it’s not something I can really keep up as a regular spiritual practice.
But I’m realizing lately that, in this ongoing act of blogging, for the first time in my adult life, I have a spiritual practice. Some entries aren’t as challenging as others; some are more outwardly focused than inwardly, some more emotional and others more intellectual; some are about me and some are about the world and some are about the interactions of the two... but still, every week, I set aside some time to sitting down and trying very hard to say something true, something meaningful, something that feels important.
So... thank you, readers, for helping me to keep this up. Thanks for letting me know you’re reading, by comments and Facebook likes and (especially) real-life conversations. Thanks for being part of this learning-and-sharing process that is a Transition for me in many, many more ways than one.
And I’ll see if I can actually get an entry in on time next week. Promise. :)
Sometimes, it’s because there’s too much deep emotion involved, serious personal stuff that has to be wrestled with.
Other times, it’s because I’m trying to tackle a subject that just isn’t finished cooking yet, and I finally have to put it aside and try another.
And then there are times like this past week, when the difficulty is simply that I enjoy the act of writing too much - the delving for bits of truth, the complex interconnection of ideas and questions, and ideas that breed new questions, and questions that breed new ideas...
Realizing that I was behind schedule posting (not surprising during this month full of holiday-busy-crazy), I started to toss off something simple and straightforward about my pleasure in being part of my church’s abridged “readers’ version” production of “A Christmas Carol” - the satisfaction in finally getting to test my theatrical “chops” (for various complicated reasons, I have never dared to get involved in theater, despite long-held interest), and just the fun of being part of it...
... and before I knew it, that “simple and straightforward” little personal update had started turning into a serious exploration of the concept of performance, involving Shakespeare, Victor Turner, the theatrical conventions of ancient Rome, the nature and function of masks, and the “playing” of modern gender roles. Yeah, right. Needless to say, that one won’t be the quick and easy write I was aiming for! It’s on a back burner, to simmer a little more for a future post, probably in a month or so when all the seasonal insanities and inanities are past...
And so today, instead, I am going to just go ahead and write about writing. Which feels very meta - but hey, meta is “in” these days, doncha know!
You see, I’ve learned something interesting about myself by doing this blog. Well, a number of interesting things, but one thing in particular as regards the actual writing process. I’ve learned that I am inherently an Essayist. Who knew?
Well... probably my professors knew. And anyone who’s ever actually read any of those long, involved e-mails that I tend to churn out (as opposed to those of who who just skim... and you know who you are, LOL... :D).
But I don’t just mean that I’m long-winded (though, as you may have noticed, I am). I’m talking about the Essay as a literary form. Even my informal writing (e-mail, or snail mail back in the olden days) has always tended toward being essay-structured: thesis and synthesis and argumentation, point/counterpoint (counterpoint-point-counterpoint... sorry, my fellow choir members will get that joke), and often multiple drafts even of a “friendly letter,” restructuring the whole to try and say better what I wished to say... rewording, reframing, trying to get closer and closer to the core of an idea, a feeling, an experience, a question.
This is my processing mode - to form and re-form thoughts until they begin to approximate truth of some sort.
I’ve long known that writing is a form of processing for me... but not just any kind of writing. I’ve tried journaling, which is supposed to be the writer’s tool par excellence, on multiple occasions and in multiple forms - keeping a diary, doing “morning pages” a la Julia Cameron, etc. - and it does absolutely nothing for me. I can pour words onto a page that way, but they just don’t seem to engage, with me or with each other. They don’t do what I really need them to do. They don’t take root and shift my mental ground, alter the soil, shoot up and branch off and bear fruit.
My last attempt at any form of journaling was following a class on UU spiritual practices, this past year. I’d really hoped I could make a go of it, because I’d begun to feel the need for some sort of consistent spiritual practice in my life - something to both ground me and prod me toward more growth. Alas, it was “no go.” I wondered, am I just too lazy? Not determined enough?
But no. I think it’s just not my method. Because, for whatever reason, for me, it’s in the RE-writing that insights happen.
It begins with: How do I say something that’s true, even if it’s only a piece of a larger something? And it continues with a strong determination not to get lured away from that aim by the many games that language can play.
As a songwriter, I learned years ago not to get distracted by pretty words, those brilliant (or seemingly brilliant) turns of phrase that you feel very proud of and attached to. I have many times had the immense frustration of cutting out entire verses of what felt to me like extremely well-written and clever lyrics... because as the opus progressed, I realized that those words were a sidetrack, a distraction from the central concept or story or imagery of the piece. I learned - painfully! - to be faithful to the core of the work, and put aside anything that didn’t truly advance its cause.
This is Not Fun. But it is necessary, if words are to be a communication of one’s truth, and not just a game to convert, entertain, or impress others. (Not that those games aren’t fun, at other times and in other places.)
Songwriting is a deeply spiritual thing for me, but it isn’t something I do all the time. It happens in fits and starts, and it takes an immense amount of focus and energy. (To explain this, I should mention that I have never had any great interest in tossing off a bunch of “Ooo baby don’t leave me” tunes; I compose when some really deep need or feeling or idea needs to be expressed, and mainly in the aftermath of certain kinds of profound personal and spiritual experiences.) It’s also slightly dangerous - or maybe more than slightly - because of the immersion factor... I should not be allowed to drive a car when I’m songwriting. ( I’ve had several close calls because I got lost in a mental space that had nothing to do with the fast-moving physical world around me and my fast-moving vehicle.) So it’s not something I can really keep up as a regular spiritual practice.
But I’m realizing lately that, in this ongoing act of blogging, for the first time in my adult life, I have a spiritual practice. Some entries aren’t as challenging as others; some are more outwardly focused than inwardly, some more emotional and others more intellectual; some are about me and some are about the world and some are about the interactions of the two... but still, every week, I set aside some time to sitting down and trying very hard to say something true, something meaningful, something that feels important.
So... thank you, readers, for helping me to keep this up. Thanks for letting me know you’re reading, by comments and Facebook likes and (especially) real-life conversations. Thanks for being part of this learning-and-sharing process that is a Transition for me in many, many more ways than one.
And I’ll see if I can actually get an entry in on time next week. Promise. :)
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