Use loneliness. Writing can be very lonely. Lead yourself out of it by thinking of someone
and wanting to express your life to that person. Reach out in your writing to another lonely
soul. Loneliness creates an aching urgency
to reconnect with the world. Take that
aching and use it to propel you deeper into your need for expression – to
speak, to say who you are and how you care or don’t care about life and what’s
happened to you.
Think of sharing your need to talk with
someone else when you write. Reach out
of the deep chasm of loneliness and express yourself to another human
being.
Stuck? Write about what you eat. If you find you are having trouble writing
and nothing seems real, just write about food.
Write about the foods you love most.
Be specific. Give details. Where did you eat it, with whom and what
season was it in? What was the best meal
you had last week? Maybe it’s just the
banana you had in your cold kitchen on Tuesday morning. From the table, the cheese, the old friend
across from you, the glasses of water, the striped tablecloth, fork, knife,
thick white plate, green salad, butter, you can extend yourself out in memory,
time and space. Okay, you’ve never had a
good meal in your life. Simply begin
with the last stale cheese sandwich you had in that empty apartment on First Avenue . It’s your life, begin from it.
No limits.
When you accept writing as what you are going to do, after you’ve tried
everything else – marriage, traveling, living in Houston or Billings – there’s
finally no place else to go. So matter
how big the resistance, there is one day that you write. It doesn’t go smoothly. One day you have trouble putting pen to
paper, the next you can’t stop. Continue
under all circumstances. You’ll feel
momentary flashes of enlightenment, but the nitty-gritty of everyday life, the memories,
the deep longings and the suffering are what propels us across the page. Break through the resistance in your own mind
and never limit yourself.
Keep a notebook. The really important
things people have said are probably engraved somewhere in your memory. Write these in your notebook. Perhaps the following will give you a trigger
to open the box. Think about who might have said:
I do.* You’re fired. * I
never did really love you. * I’m sorry, I’ve met someone else. It was nothing,
just a one-night stand. * Would you like to go steady? * Have you ever thought
about marrying me? * You will never forgive me, will you? * I’m leaving for New York.* I’m not sure what I’m looking for, but I know
it’s not you.* Have you put on a few
pounds? * We’ll see each other again, I promise. * You got what you deserved. *
You’ll be sorry one day when I’m not around. * You couldn’t have hurt me more
if you had plunged a dagger in my heart. * Either you follow the rules in this
house or you leave.
Show don’t tell. If you want your readers to see the
quaintness of the town, show us the barber pole, the brick streets, the benches
in front of the bank where people sit. Introduce
them to the shoemaker who wears a leather apron and repairs saddles as well as
your Mary Janes. Let the reader
experience the situation with you: I was
appalled by the clutter: the chair
spitting its stuffing, a couch stacked with outdated newspapers, Chinese
take-out cartons caked with dried soy sauce, five cats sleeping on the mattress
on the floor. Order an egg cream at the drugstore.
WHY DO I WRITE?
It’s a good question. Ask it of yourself every once in a
while. No answer will make you stop
writing, and over time you will find that you have given every response.
1.
Because I’m a jerk.
2.
No one listens to me when I speak.
3.
So I can start a revolution.
4.
In order to write the Great American Novel
and make a zillion bucks.
5.
Because I’m crazy.
6.
To keep me from going crazy.
7.
Because I am channeled by William
Shakespeare.
8.
Because I have something to say.
9.
Because I have nothing to say.
10. Life
is temporary, writing lasts.
Why do I write? I write because I’ve kept my mouth shut all
my life and it’s time for me to speak out.
I am always facing that creeping agony that all this will pass. The truth is I have a way with words. I can make the terrible wonderful, the
unspoken spoken.
Alone at my desk, I discover
what has passed through me when I write.
I write because I am crazy, schizophrenic, neurotic, obsessive,
compulsive and suffer from Post Traumatic Stress. I know it, accept it and I have to do
something with it other than go to the loony bin.
I write because there are
stories that people have forgotten or are too scared to tell. I write because I
am a woman trying to stand up for myself. I write because I dare to tell what
happened and make it art. I write so
that I can face my own life. I write
because I run deep and my soul aches.
I write out of joy. I write
out of hurt. I write to make myself
strong and to come home to myself.
No comments:
Post a Comment