When I think of writing as giving I think of what I've been doing with the practice for most of my life: journal writing. I process what I am going through on daily basis and this makes me feel as if I've actually been writing. Another might be the rationale I often use to see myself in the reflection of the words that come to my mind in a moment (this one, for example): essentially an act of narcissism.
Another perhaps less productive reason for journal writing is just writing for the sake of it. This in itself is fine as a stimulator, but my tendency is to be too satisfied with journal writing, as if it were actually going to be read by another human being. It is not, of course. No one in their right mind would want to pore through this drivel. What I see in my journal writing is an attempt to "figure things out" which really is fine; it's good, therapeutic fun. But real therapy for me is in the giving, not the receiving, and journal writing for me is all the latter.
So, how can I invert this writerly energy to be more of a giving act? One step might be to confront my anxiety that what I have to give will be rejected. After all the exhortations and warnings to ignore this childish fear, I still find that it is very much a part of my consciousness as I struggle to create, explore, reach into the unsaid, the unfathomed. It's this very fear of the unknown that ironically is also the impetus for writing.
So, in confronting this fear I have endeavored occasionally to post some drivel on my blog, a blog which, except perhaps for three members is read by none. Experimental honesty indeed. If I were really to experiment, I would be pushing the blog, promoting it, soliciting comment and critique. Alas, it languishes in the ether, safely, unread and invisible: the inside work of an outsider.
Another step might be to forget the blog altogether. Focus on story. It could be Drum or it could be a new story. Maybe it's time to revise some older stories. Whatever the case, I need to pull myself out of this protection zone, become a more challenged and enlightened creator. I've thought that poetry may be a way out of these doldrums.
In an excellent interview with avant-garde Jazz composer, John Zorn, Terri Gross asks about how he stays creative. Zorn, in his feisty, staunchly independent way, speaks of ignoring these voices that almost always have their own agendas:
ZORN: Well, you know, I mean, discipline is a very important thing. And, you know, I wanted to play the bass and my parents said, you know, you don't want to play the bass, that's in the background. You want to play the guitar, that's in the front, you know. So, you know, I want to play the bass. No, no, no, we'll get you guitar. They got me a little guitar. Then they had a teacher come by who was very strict and very disciplined and had me spend all my time playing scales. And he wanted me to play the chromatic scale, four octaves, from the lowest note to the highest note of the guitar and back down in eight seconds. And I worked on that a lot but I couldn't get it any lower than 12. And he said until you can get it at eight seconds, you know, I won't let you play a Beatles tune or anything like that. You have to do this.
GROSS: Geez.
ZORN: So I told them to go get stuffed and I started doing my own thing. And discipline is important as long as you're having a good time. What I always did is I did what I enjoyed and I think that's why I don't have any grey hairs. I'm 60 but I look like I'm 40. And I have a very beautiful life with great friends and I look forward to waking up everyday. Everyday is a vacation but every day is a workday. I don't want to take vacations because music is my life and if I escape from music, that's the same thing as death. So a vacation is death to me. Sitting on the beach for a week is my idea of hell. That would kill me.
I love this. Zorn has found a way to live with his art, and this way is to cut out distraction. The complete transcript is here:
Terry Gross interview with John Zorn.
Has my attempt though journal writing to flesh out personal truths become also a self-deception? A gift to myself alone? Could it be time to cut out this distraction and use these letters in a more generous way? Or should I just tell that voice in my head to "go get stuffed" and do my own thing?
I suppose the answer I've conjured is reflected in the the labels of this blog. Flotsam is for random wisps of ideas, floaties; Tidepool is a dedicated to capturing the sort of wandering process writing represented here; and Undertow is reserved for story and character ideas, poems, complete thoughts that beg for more. Undertow is where I want to live as a writer, but the other two places are where things gather and grow.
