Tuesday, March 4, 2008

Write What Needs to be Written (journal entry July 7, 2007)

You say you’re going to write every day and you don’t. You plan a million other things in its place. I do, because I am a million-thing doer. Not that anything is more important. But to write, I have to have something to say to myself and I don’t always want to have to do that. For some reason I do want to write every morning because I get up and do homework or schoolwork or write friends. So, I know that I want words in my face and in my ears and in my head. I don’t want to talk. I want silence. The perfect day is about slowly waking and drawing a cup of coffee like butter from a spicket and sitting down at the blank page to see what will come out and if its something profound. I think at this point in my life I know I have something to say. I am almost convinced that I am smart enough to say it and not look like a fool. But there is that nagging force inside that is so afraid that one day a finished book of mine will be horribly critiqued by some award-winning writer whom I admire and whose works stand still like volcanic islands hovering fiercely over all the little inactive islands that can’t erupt if they wanted. I want, of course, to say something that will change people’s lives, but in doing so be as eloquent and proficient as possible so there could be not one shred of negativity said about what I put forth. However, I have a sneaky suspicion that this couldn’t possibly exist in reality. This is strikingly parallel to how I am about my body. I want every ounce to be taut, firm muscle with smooth, ageless skin pulled nicely over it. I do not want a thing on my body that anyone could point at and say, ‘Eewee, not quite done right.” Then again, if you ask anyone else in the world where people actually are able to see things for what they are and not in some alter-reality where eyes see only horrible mistakes, there might be a middle ground, or even a ground nearer to the top, where what I write could be said well and with grace, nicely written with even a few surprisingly perfect uses of syntax and grammar and the words are the perfect raspberries on top of steaming bread pudding sentences.
Of course, you can’t sit down every morning and write about writing. Where would that ever get you? It would be like saying you’re going to make dinner and never get off the couch, but remain there hungry. Hunger is really a state of being that is well compared to the need to write. You can suppress hunger for awhile. It is probably good to do so. But, if you don’t feed yourself you die and well, we don’t want that…then you’d never write. You can suppress writing as well. God knows I have done that. I would like to write what had to be written. There are many things that have to be written and when that needs doing, I’m your gal. A list, a calendar event, a paragraph to appease a nagging aunt, these are all things I leap to do. I love direction. I adore walls. I am ecstatic about perimeters that exist so that I can roam around inside of them and never have to venture on the other side. However, from everything I read by other writers, that isn’t the way. At least not if you are going to be creative. (though this piece negates everything I just said)...
I suppose I could write non-fiction analyses of spotted, horny toads. There’s an idea. I might even be able to get a little crazy in writing about amphibians. I mean, it could be done. But, in reality, (or a creative writer’s reality) that isn’t where the rubber meets the imaginative road and isn’t there enough out there written about toads? Probably not to the biologist and to them I apologize. I don’t mean to lend a deaf ear or cold heart to the crying issues of some small but significant species. I do, however, need to pay attention to what needs to be said from my heart and that is not about toads, or giraffes or swallows, at least not at this point in my life.
But, sit me in front of a clean but heavy-duty window and I’d be happy to stare at toads and giraffes for inspiration to help me write what needs to be written. I think although lists are comforting and emails are fun, what really needs to be taken from my heart and my head and put down on my paper are the words from me. In fact, there is from no other place I could write but from inside the experiences which have brought me to the page. So, while what I may think needs to be written are cards and letters and grocery lists, I am deceiving myself. What needs to be written is more. It lies deeper. True, the insignificant writings of life may be what sustains me and prompts me, but they are not the meat that feeds the writer’s soul. Meat pumps protein to muscles and fires them up to become stronger and more effective so they can push and pull legs up mountains and make arms rock babies. In the same way, creative, soul-writing pumps similes and metaphors and profound answers from our brains and through our fingertips for our eyes to grasp and decipher then hold on to for dear life. We eventually become better people for having done so. With hope, by some great chance and star-struck luck, those words might mean something to someone else as well.

2 comments:

Kathy said...

Dearest Jane,
Stop by my blog. I have something to show you. Love, Kathy

Unknown said...

Hello, I found your blog on Kathy's post today, and I am so glad. I have been blogging just short of a year and it has been one of the most creative, and inspiring things that I have ever done. Keeping a journal is always a good thing, keeping a blog is a better one, because the network of support you will find in Blogland will make only add blessings to your life. Welcome to Blogland and stop by my place for a visit. Karen

"Write the best sentence you can." E. Hemingway