Thank you for this. I think that perspective can arrives sometime ‘on the page,’ from trying and seeing how it sounds. Discovering I’m ready because the voice is suddenly there. I can identify it, mine it. I’m no longer just whining and small. It’s also to do with not caring anymore what anyone else thinks, being done with all that. What’s frustrating is wanting to sound that way and writing and writing and finding I can’t yet. I’m not ready. But it’s glorious when it happens. That’s the prize
The idea of dispassion as a writer has come up for me as a journalist as well. I am not sure it is possible, or desirable. However, I can see how channeling a painful episode through storytelling can help you to process it (and help others who have been through something similar). Being able to obtain some sort of distance from it through an imagined world can help you to see truths in it that might not be visible close up. In terms of time, can we afford to wait until it no longer hurts, until we can be objective, whatever that means? Why not write with bitterness, anger, grief, all of those things, and see where it takes you? An examined feeling rarely stays unchanged. One of the joys of writing is that process of alchemy where something suddenly changes into something unintended, or takes on a life of its own. A truth reveals itself.
This is really interesting, Beth... “why not write with bitterness, anger and grief” ... I think as humans we are afraid of these emotions and we shouldn’t be. And I think writing them out as therapy is super helpful, and I have done this myself, it is cathartic. I guess that when it perhaps might be unhelpful is in memoir when writing for an audience, possibly, but you’re right, not necessarily. Depends who you’re angry with and whether they will sue you maybe!
Litigation is definitely an issue! I have found it strangely cathartic to assume the persona of an arrogant, abusive man, and then to give him his comeuppance in the narrative, all while not giving this character any signs of self-awareness. More of a challenge in a memoir. I wonder if this gets to the question of whether or not everyone really does deserve compassion, the benefit of the doubt. Is there always another side to the story? It can also have a devastating effect to show someone's harmful actions without explaining, blaming or avenging it in the story. Maybe that has a kind of truth to it too, that some things will happen to us and we will never really understand why.
I think we write to try to make sense, not for revenge. And so even the reason we come to the page -- whether it’s in private or public -- in that case is for a better understanding. You are right that we don’t need to understand everything, but what I have learnt in my own experience is that we all live life differently, we all make decisions based on our own moral values, or lack of them, and we all then have to live with them. If some can live with hurting people, that is a freedom in itself. Not what I would choose for myself, but everyone has a right to choose for themselves what they can live with, or how they explain it away for themselves. That is beyond our control as humans, but not if we want to approach it as a novelist, as you say!
I think layers of denial and self-deception are interesting for a writer to explore too. Not necessarily telling the reader what to think, but revealing the gaps between the myths we live by and reality, or at least how others might see it. I loved how Robert de Niro's character in The Irishman was trying to convince himself that his life of crime had been worth it, even losing the relationship with his daughter. I know that is a film and not a book! Talking of which, I had better get on with some writing myself...
Yes I agree with this and about writing through anger. I have passages in my memoir where I am really angry and it was very satisfying to write and works as a reading experience.
But I guess as an editor of our own work we need to recognise what is happening, ie what emotion is driving the prose, and craft it to be in service of the story. So your persona can be angry but the dispassionate author is in control of how that comes across in the text and to the reader.
That makes sense, and maybe a part of the process is to get it all out, then go back and edit, think, move things around. I think it also depends on what kind of book/story you are writing. There is definite "truthiness" to some unflattering caricatures that I had read, clearly written by someone who had a bad experience with someone just like that! I read a review of an author's work recently (wish I could remember who, hazards of peri-menopause) that said "she isn't a needy writer" and I liked that, as a way of describing a style that shows but doesn't tell you what to think. It leaves a lot of space for the reader. I have also been on a rollicking ride with authors that do make you feel strong emotions, and as long as they do it well I don't mind that either.
I think that’s where the confidence of the writing comes in, if the writer is confident, and the reader has confidence in them, then they can lead them anywhere.
Hello! Running a bit behind with the series but just finally had a chance to read #4. Your hypothetical ‘words’ warning made me laugh. I think your first attempt might be a bit wordy on a small book cover. I guess my warning of choice would be: ‘WARNING - the words inside *may* make you FEEL.’ Perhaps that’s what Garden Party man was alluding to after all. For God’s sake, just don’t make me FEEL. You ask, about being dispassionate when battle-scarred? Perhaps I’m too stoic here, but isn’t the kind of battle-scarred you’re talking about just the pain we feel from our injuries sustained? If we feel dispassionate, perhaps that’s just because it really bloody hurts? If I’m in pain, anything I do could be interpreted as dispassionate because the pain is distracting me so much, I cannot be my regular self. If there are wounds, surely we retreat into ourselves? But of course, just like the artist and the apple - interpretation is wide open. And as it happens, on that note - my answer is yes - we ARE more generous to the painter than the creative writer. I think it’s just a generic idea that painters are allowed to be transitive and ‘out there’, whereas somewhere - within context - the writer must fall in line somewhere. It’s what is expected of us, I think. Some readers are more generous with their boundaries on this than others. Lastly, I feel a bit sorry for you when you were listing those incidences to your therapist. I can’t help but think you were only trying to bring some logic to your insurmountable chaos at that time. Lists are our go-tos at such time. It was a form of protection. Not sure if your therapist saw it that way, but I do. Needless to say, I remain thankful for yours and Lily’s letters. Mabel and I have really got into colouring in books in the last few weeks and I’ve been making wild decisions like selecting ‘purple’ for an apple. Feels rebellious but satisfying. Got to take the Rock and Roll highs where you can get them at the ripe old age of 44, right?! Until next time.
My interactions with my remaining friends unfolds almost exclusively in writing, since many of them travel and live abroad and have no intention of returning to the United Kingdom. There are a few who I imagine I will never see again in person. I used to travel as well, before I got sick. Now I stay at home and live vicariously through the personal narratives of others.
Some of these digital communications carry news of the kind of bizarre adventures that I also used to have before I lost my nerve. Some are based around the continuance of contrived discussions where the unspoken goal is to keep a strand of conversation going for as long as possible. For several years I have been engaged in a serialised, back and forth discussion regarding the ridiculous heavy metal band, Manowar, whose lead singer holds a vocal disdain for what he terms as “false metal”. It is my belief that True Metal is a Platonic Form that cannot tangibly manifest and therefore that Manowar, whether they admit it or not, also play false metal.
Since I only occasionally leave the house (I am capable of doing so but see little point in it) I also communicate in written form with people who live twenty minutes away.
One thing that I do miss and that I don't think is coming back until a solar flare or some terrestrial mishap puts the age of email on pause, are those crumpled letters that would arrive from far-flung corners of the world covered in alien stamps and smudged postmarks. They were written on paper that was gummed along the edges so that it could be folded into its own envelope. The scrawled contents were usually barely legible and garnished with tatty biro illustrations that cascaded down the page and that conveyed as much about the writer's mindset as their actual words.
Thank you for this. I think that perspective can arrives sometime ‘on the page,’ from trying and seeing how it sounds. Discovering I’m ready because the voice is suddenly there. I can identify it, mine it. I’m no longer just whining and small. It’s also to do with not caring anymore what anyone else thinks, being done with all that. What’s frustrating is wanting to sound that way and writing and writing and finding I can’t yet. I’m not ready. But it’s glorious when it happens. That’s the prize
It is the prize, isn’t it, Eliza? Getting that bit closer to the truth.
This is so right. It can’t be forced. And what a prize.
I love what you say here Anna about truth - some truth, not The Truth. It feels very true for me.
True!
The idea of dispassion as a writer has come up for me as a journalist as well. I am not sure it is possible, or desirable. However, I can see how channeling a painful episode through storytelling can help you to process it (and help others who have been through something similar). Being able to obtain some sort of distance from it through an imagined world can help you to see truths in it that might not be visible close up. In terms of time, can we afford to wait until it no longer hurts, until we can be objective, whatever that means? Why not write with bitterness, anger, grief, all of those things, and see where it takes you? An examined feeling rarely stays unchanged. One of the joys of writing is that process of alchemy where something suddenly changes into something unintended, or takes on a life of its own. A truth reveals itself.
This is really interesting, Beth... “why not write with bitterness, anger and grief” ... I think as humans we are afraid of these emotions and we shouldn’t be. And I think writing them out as therapy is super helpful, and I have done this myself, it is cathartic. I guess that when it perhaps might be unhelpful is in memoir when writing for an audience, possibly, but you’re right, not necessarily. Depends who you’re angry with and whether they will sue you maybe!
Litigation is definitely an issue! I have found it strangely cathartic to assume the persona of an arrogant, abusive man, and then to give him his comeuppance in the narrative, all while not giving this character any signs of self-awareness. More of a challenge in a memoir. I wonder if this gets to the question of whether or not everyone really does deserve compassion, the benefit of the doubt. Is there always another side to the story? It can also have a devastating effect to show someone's harmful actions without explaining, blaming or avenging it in the story. Maybe that has a kind of truth to it too, that some things will happen to us and we will never really understand why.
I think we write to try to make sense, not for revenge. And so even the reason we come to the page -- whether it’s in private or public -- in that case is for a better understanding. You are right that we don’t need to understand everything, but what I have learnt in my own experience is that we all live life differently, we all make decisions based on our own moral values, or lack of them, and we all then have to live with them. If some can live with hurting people, that is a freedom in itself. Not what I would choose for myself, but everyone has a right to choose for themselves what they can live with, or how they explain it away for themselves. That is beyond our control as humans, but not if we want to approach it as a novelist, as you say!
I think layers of denial and self-deception are interesting for a writer to explore too. Not necessarily telling the reader what to think, but revealing the gaps between the myths we live by and reality, or at least how others might see it. I loved how Robert de Niro's character in The Irishman was trying to convince himself that his life of crime had been worth it, even losing the relationship with his daughter. I know that is a film and not a book! Talking of which, I had better get on with some writing myself...
Great hearing your thoughts... thank you for sharing them 🙏🏼
Yes I agree with this and about writing through anger. I have passages in my memoir where I am really angry and it was very satisfying to write and works as a reading experience.
But I guess as an editor of our own work we need to recognise what is happening, ie what emotion is driving the prose, and craft it to be in service of the story. So your persona can be angry but the dispassionate author is in control of how that comes across in the text and to the reader.
That makes sense, and maybe a part of the process is to get it all out, then go back and edit, think, move things around. I think it also depends on what kind of book/story you are writing. There is definite "truthiness" to some unflattering caricatures that I had read, clearly written by someone who had a bad experience with someone just like that! I read a review of an author's work recently (wish I could remember who, hazards of peri-menopause) that said "she isn't a needy writer" and I liked that, as a way of describing a style that shows but doesn't tell you what to think. It leaves a lot of space for the reader. I have also been on a rollicking ride with authors that do make you feel strong emotions, and as long as they do it well I don't mind that either.
I think that’s where the confidence of the writing comes in, if the writer is confident, and the reader has confidence in them, then they can lead them anywhere.
And this sounds far easier than it is!
I like the ‘she isn’t a needy writer’ like being a writer who tries too hard
Definitely - not trying to impress the reader, show off or force anything.
This letter is thoughtful and inspiring... I’ve also used that NE quote as a touchstone.
I swear I should have it tattooed on my body somewhere.
Hello! Running a bit behind with the series but just finally had a chance to read #4. Your hypothetical ‘words’ warning made me laugh. I think your first attempt might be a bit wordy on a small book cover. I guess my warning of choice would be: ‘WARNING - the words inside *may* make you FEEL.’ Perhaps that’s what Garden Party man was alluding to after all. For God’s sake, just don’t make me FEEL. You ask, about being dispassionate when battle-scarred? Perhaps I’m too stoic here, but isn’t the kind of battle-scarred you’re talking about just the pain we feel from our injuries sustained? If we feel dispassionate, perhaps that’s just because it really bloody hurts? If I’m in pain, anything I do could be interpreted as dispassionate because the pain is distracting me so much, I cannot be my regular self. If there are wounds, surely we retreat into ourselves? But of course, just like the artist and the apple - interpretation is wide open. And as it happens, on that note - my answer is yes - we ARE more generous to the painter than the creative writer. I think it’s just a generic idea that painters are allowed to be transitive and ‘out there’, whereas somewhere - within context - the writer must fall in line somewhere. It’s what is expected of us, I think. Some readers are more generous with their boundaries on this than others. Lastly, I feel a bit sorry for you when you were listing those incidences to your therapist. I can’t help but think you were only trying to bring some logic to your insurmountable chaos at that time. Lists are our go-tos at such time. It was a form of protection. Not sure if your therapist saw it that way, but I do. Needless to say, I remain thankful for yours and Lily’s letters. Mabel and I have really got into colouring in books in the last few weeks and I’ve been making wild decisions like selecting ‘purple’ for an apple. Feels rebellious but satisfying. Got to take the Rock and Roll highs where you can get them at the ripe old age of 44, right?! Until next time.
My interactions with my remaining friends unfolds almost exclusively in writing, since many of them travel and live abroad and have no intention of returning to the United Kingdom. There are a few who I imagine I will never see again in person. I used to travel as well, before I got sick. Now I stay at home and live vicariously through the personal narratives of others.
Some of these digital communications carry news of the kind of bizarre adventures that I also used to have before I lost my nerve. Some are based around the continuance of contrived discussions where the unspoken goal is to keep a strand of conversation going for as long as possible. For several years I have been engaged in a serialised, back and forth discussion regarding the ridiculous heavy metal band, Manowar, whose lead singer holds a vocal disdain for what he terms as “false metal”. It is my belief that True Metal is a Platonic Form that cannot tangibly manifest and therefore that Manowar, whether they admit it or not, also play false metal.
Since I only occasionally leave the house (I am capable of doing so but see little point in it) I also communicate in written form with people who live twenty minutes away.
One thing that I do miss and that I don't think is coming back until a solar flare or some terrestrial mishap puts the age of email on pause, are those crumpled letters that would arrive from far-flung corners of the world covered in alien stamps and smudged postmarks. They were written on paper that was gummed along the edges so that it could be folded into its own envelope. The scrawled contents were usually barely legible and garnished with tatty biro illustrations that cascaded down the page and that conveyed as much about the writer's mindset as their actual words.