What's Going On Inside
For my writing class, I've been trying to encourage my students to dump out their figurative insides. I believe, when all the insides — all the emotions and fears and hopes and hates and miseries and passions and all — are out in plain sight, a writer can then truly begin to work.
One of my students remarked that he would prefer to process things with his intellect — as opposed to his feelings. In an email, he shared some of his past that reminded me of my past.
Below is part of my response — with some more added:
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There is so much I want to say — and I hope we can cover much of it in class — but I will say this: creative writing is largely just remembering. The feelings do the remembering, and the intellect puts it into words.
Most of my miseries have to do with abandonment. I would never wish such things on anyone, nor do I want to experience them again, but they are in me now, and I can lock them away in a miserable cell, or I can turn them into words. When I turn them into words, they're not shackles anymore — but just discolored scars. With writing, I've relived some glimpses of my miseries. With writing, I've wept sometimes. Regardless, writing has never brought back my demons; it has only named them.
They're still evil, little fuckers. They still lash at me from time to time, but they're losing power because — while they can still injure — their insults are less and less potent.
All that to say that there are many things that enhance creative writing, but one of the most potent is raw truth: real experiences you've had — both glorious and devastating.
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I think like anything we do avidly, we find more value in it as we continue. Have you ever heard some enthusiast find problems everywhere that can be solved by whatever fancy is on his mind at the time? Have you ever heard of someone saying that diet solves all health issues? Or have you ever heard someone laud golf as the best activity for physical health, mental health, social health, and more?
Today, I have to tell you that writing fixes so many ailments.
I read about a young gentleman that was stuck in a really dire situation. As you may have seen, he was destined to remain on that path: drugs, violence, and worse. However, he wrote himself out of it. He wrote everything that he experienced — and everything that he didn't. Somehow, it pulled him out of his trajectory, and he found new life.
Though my experiences have been much milder, writing has still saved me.
It was funny. I shared my blog with an old friend. Later, she came to me saying that she was worried about me. I asked why, and she said she had read my blog. I was momentarily baffled! Lately, my blog has been, at worst, just plain rando, but, more often than not, quite a chipper pile of miscellaneous thoughts.
As we talked, I realized she went back to the beginning: where I wrote self-deprecating, self-pitying drivel.
God has worked many balms into my life, and, when clinging to Him, health and growth are inevitable. Especially, He has used writing powerfully in my life.
One of the things I want to impart to my students is that the best fiction is really just truth with a fanciful lens. Most of my literature — most of the lines that people have marked — are really just snippets of my plain-old life.
Even though I've acknowledged this many times, I am still surprised when I see a sketch reflect some facet of my life. What's even more striking is when one of my stories explains an emotion or an experience. By some weird paradox, I learn about my life from my characters.
And I think that's my point: you can use literature to outside your innards, and thereby you can start to see what's going on inside — and grow.
One of my students remarked that he would prefer to process things with his intellect — as opposed to his feelings. In an email, he shared some of his past that reminded me of my past.
Below is part of my response — with some more added:
------
There is so much I want to say — and I hope we can cover much of it in class — but I will say this: creative writing is largely just remembering. The feelings do the remembering, and the intellect puts it into words.
Most of my miseries have to do with abandonment. I would never wish such things on anyone, nor do I want to experience them again, but they are in me now, and I can lock them away in a miserable cell, or I can turn them into words. When I turn them into words, they're not shackles anymore — but just discolored scars. With writing, I've relived some glimpses of my miseries. With writing, I've wept sometimes. Regardless, writing has never brought back my demons; it has only named them.
They're still evil, little fuckers. They still lash at me from time to time, but they're losing power because — while they can still injure — their insults are less and less potent.
All that to say that there are many things that enhance creative writing, but one of the most potent is raw truth: real experiences you've had — both glorious and devastating.
------
I think like anything we do avidly, we find more value in it as we continue. Have you ever heard some enthusiast find problems everywhere that can be solved by whatever fancy is on his mind at the time? Have you ever heard of someone saying that diet solves all health issues? Or have you ever heard someone laud golf as the best activity for physical health, mental health, social health, and more?
Today, I have to tell you that writing fixes so many ailments.
I read about a young gentleman that was stuck in a really dire situation. As you may have seen, he was destined to remain on that path: drugs, violence, and worse. However, he wrote himself out of it. He wrote everything that he experienced — and everything that he didn't. Somehow, it pulled him out of his trajectory, and he found new life.
Though my experiences have been much milder, writing has still saved me.
It was funny. I shared my blog with an old friend. Later, she came to me saying that she was worried about me. I asked why, and she said she had read my blog. I was momentarily baffled! Lately, my blog has been, at worst, just plain rando, but, more often than not, quite a chipper pile of miscellaneous thoughts.
As we talked, I realized she went back to the beginning: where I wrote self-deprecating, self-pitying drivel.
God has worked many balms into my life, and, when clinging to Him, health and growth are inevitable. Especially, He has used writing powerfully in my life.
One of the things I want to impart to my students is that the best fiction is really just truth with a fanciful lens. Most of my literature — most of the lines that people have marked — are really just snippets of my plain-old life.
Even though I've acknowledged this many times, I am still surprised when I see a sketch reflect some facet of my life. What's even more striking is when one of my stories explains an emotion or an experience. By some weird paradox, I learn about my life from my characters.
And I think that's my point: you can use literature to outside your innards, and thereby you can start to see what's going on inside — and grow.
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