Creating anything is constant surrender. It's also connection. I think it was Van Gogh who said he paints to feel apart of everything, both inside and outside of himself.
So " the deep dark fizz of a mind" is a wondrous thing, and I agree that writing involves a loss of control, or - at least - a relaxation of control.
I've been thinking about that a lot, myself. I have a strong capacity for logical, ordered thought, and it has come in mighty handy many a time..... It certainly helped me earn a living, and probably saved my life once or twice, but my ability to write creatively - prose or poetry - comes from somewhere entirely else.
The strange, non-linear associations of image and metaphor which are far from obvious, and far from literal fact, but which also hold and convey a deeper truth. Your "deep dark fizz of a mind" is a wonderful example.
For me, they arise when I relax and let go of logical, linear thought, and it's a little like a window opening from another place inside me - maybe the "Subconscious connectedness" you refer to. Logical me never disappears, or what I write would become unintelligible - so disconnected from common sense as to be unrecognisable.
It is very like conscious dreaming - that state at the edges of consciousness - a blending of two ways of thinking, two forms of awareness. I suspect it's similar for you - because you have a Scientist's capacity for logic, fact, cause and effect - but a Poet and Artist's eye for emotional truth.
I love the imagery of non-linear thought coming to you from an open window somewhere within - this very much resonates with me! I'd say for me the logical part of my brain does almost entirely shut off when I'm in creative flow, but comes back with a bite when I am in editor mode - and she slams that window closed while she gets to work! I'm so fascinated by the different internal experiences of people as they create - and I wonder if they differ cross-culturally too. Brains are just so weird and wonderful.
Hi my friend. Yes - it's.... infinitely fascinating.
I've been trying to "observe" myself writing - to capture how the flow works, without interrupting it. Not easy!!
Two days ago I finally wrote, and posted, a poem about Gaza. This one has been building up inside me as a mixture of revulsion, anger, despair, shock, outrage, and simple grief for well over a year. Every time I tried to write it - previously - the emotions were so raw that what I wrote felt just like a rant, and I stopped.
On Tuesday I was thinking about how a lot of what I write now is keyed to my photographic images or Meg's art - and I realised that this was my way "in" to what I wanted to say about Gaza, but I couldn't use actual images.
The actual photos are just horrific, and we have all seen them anyway. But I could do something else - with a blank field of colour instead of an image.
As soon as I realised that, I started, and the poem just erupted out of me - with minimal conscious thought and almost no editing required.
Oh gosh Dave, I just listened to it. Brilliant reading, and incredible, powerful piece. It's so interesting to know the process that got you to this poem - and such an effective technique to use blocks of colour rather than images. How fascinating that this - blank images - was the key to unlock the poem for you.
A lovely reflection on writing and life. That sounds too pat. I am stuck with prose in my head, with whale bones and bird mouths. And water. And cycle. And movement and the sounds of all those birds clamoring and screaming. Delight and death.
I hardly know where to begin - I look forward to Sunday mornings so much, and I delight in discovering what wonders will you will share. I think it might be our greater role to feel the sorrow and empathy that nature's seeming brutality does not countenance. To delight in the squarks and frolics of the raven fledgelings and at the same time mourn for the chick that became their breakfast. And I think, the 'not so pretty', the 'dark and lonely' are necessary, the messy, the imperfect - like jarring notes and disharmonies in music are necessary to making the whole piece dizzyingly beautiful. I am always delighted to see the buzzards and red kites and sparrowhawks, and I was so excited to see a raven when visiting Bridport earlier in May, but to see the magpie stabbing a duckling carcass as I walked along the river last weekend, and the mallards milling, watching, was a hard thing. I am truly honoured that you have mentioned my short story, thank you. I felt your words about writing in first person deeply - when writing the words of Earth, and Mira - surprisingly tangled and surprisingly separate. So beautifully put. I think I may be circling an understanding of my own one story, Mira's story has given me an inkling that I might be able to commit it to paper.. we shall see. I very much look forward to reading your story, when it is ready and the time is right.
I love how you linked this to music - yes yes yes - we need it all, shadow and light, harmony and disharmony, joy and pain, to really be able to appreciate it all. And what a thing it is to circle your own story - I can't wait to see the orbit it takes, if you do commit it to paper x
Killer whales visited our bay this week, too, and I had many similar thoughts as I raced around to catch a single glimpse of them. In May, here, it is harbor seal pups who fall prey. How can I ever wrap my head around what draws those magnificent whales into our shore.
I think so too, Rebecca. That writing is the opposite of being in control.
Once again, I feel I’m riding the tide with your words, their ebb and flow. With each lap against the shore, I see their wisdom and say ah yes. And with each crest, I find you churning and polishing a new iteration you will return with the next lap.
Your comments are always a poem, Michela! 'Light gives birth to shadow' - ah, yes! And yes also to writing being like entering a maze. I might think I have a plan for where I am going, but the words soon tell me otherwise. I have to close my eyes and let them take me where they will.
“Spending a lifetime trying to understand our story.” (And, as you describe, probably less trying and more simply receiving as it comes.) In my life, it’s in fits and starts, this understanding. Cognition and “making sense of it” always months or usually years later, and that’s the fun of it. The not knowing but jumping from the nest anyway. And if we’re torn apart by baby ravens along the way, well, that’s part of our story too then.
Thank you, always, for your wisdom and openness. ❤️
I am definitely coming to learn this too - that the making sense of a story can come years after the creation of it/recognition of it. Ah, being human is such an odd and mysterious experience! (As, I am sure, being a raven or a sparrow or a whale is too ;) ). Thank you as ever for being here ❤️
Isn't Strout a real treat? I recently read her first book Amy & Isabelle and am still mulling it over on walks. Her publisher might consider including a box of tissues with every one of her books!
Yes! She has been my favourite author since I first read Amy & Isabelle when I was a teen. Her prose is so clean and simple and yet also so incredibly sharp and insightful and beautiful. She is a master.
A beautiful post, Rebecca! So much for me to think about this morning. I look forward to reading your new fiction project. I imagine it will be remarkable. Remarkable as all your writings. Full of wonder and curiosity. Thank you.
I’ve had to learn this over time - the best writing *isn’t* in control. It needs freedom. This was beautifully put!
It's such a freeing lesson to learn, isn't it! There's something wonderful in knowing the words will show you the way x
Creating anything is constant surrender. It's also connection. I think it was Van Gogh who said he paints to feel apart of everything, both inside and outside of himself.
Yes! Surrender and connection, the perfect way to put it x
Hi friend Rebecca.
So " the deep dark fizz of a mind" is a wondrous thing, and I agree that writing involves a loss of control, or - at least - a relaxation of control.
I've been thinking about that a lot, myself. I have a strong capacity for logical, ordered thought, and it has come in mighty handy many a time..... It certainly helped me earn a living, and probably saved my life once or twice, but my ability to write creatively - prose or poetry - comes from somewhere entirely else.
The strange, non-linear associations of image and metaphor which are far from obvious, and far from literal fact, but which also hold and convey a deeper truth. Your "deep dark fizz of a mind" is a wonderful example.
For me, they arise when I relax and let go of logical, linear thought, and it's a little like a window opening from another place inside me - maybe the "Subconscious connectedness" you refer to. Logical me never disappears, or what I write would become unintelligible - so disconnected from common sense as to be unrecognisable.
It is very like conscious dreaming - that state at the edges of consciousness - a blending of two ways of thinking, two forms of awareness. I suspect it's similar for you - because you have a Scientist's capacity for logic, fact, cause and effect - but a Poet and Artist's eye for emotional truth.
Best Wishes - Dave :)
I love the imagery of non-linear thought coming to you from an open window somewhere within - this very much resonates with me! I'd say for me the logical part of my brain does almost entirely shut off when I'm in creative flow, but comes back with a bite when I am in editor mode - and she slams that window closed while she gets to work! I'm so fascinated by the different internal experiences of people as they create - and I wonder if they differ cross-culturally too. Brains are just so weird and wonderful.
Hi my friend. Yes - it's.... infinitely fascinating.
I've been trying to "observe" myself writing - to capture how the flow works, without interrupting it. Not easy!!
Two days ago I finally wrote, and posted, a poem about Gaza. This one has been building up inside me as a mixture of revulsion, anger, despair, shock, outrage, and simple grief for well over a year. Every time I tried to write it - previously - the emotions were so raw that what I wrote felt just like a rant, and I stopped.
On Tuesday I was thinking about how a lot of what I write now is keyed to my photographic images or Meg's art - and I realised that this was my way "in" to what I wanted to say about Gaza, but I couldn't use actual images.
The actual photos are just horrific, and we have all seen them anyway. But I could do something else - with a blank field of colour instead of an image.
As soon as I realised that, I started, and the poem just erupted out of me - with minimal conscious thought and almost no editing required.
It is - indeed - strange.
Best Wishes to you - Dave
Oh gosh Dave, I just listened to it. Brilliant reading, and incredible, powerful piece. It's so interesting to know the process that got you to this poem - and such an effective technique to use blocks of colour rather than images. How fascinating that this - blank images - was the key to unlock the poem for you.
Thankyou. I felt that I had to read it aloud. The first time in 72 posts that I have done that….
Did it in one take, first go, for better or worse….
A lovely reflection on writing and life. That sounds too pat. I am stuck with prose in my head, with whale bones and bird mouths. And water. And cycle. And movement and the sounds of all those birds clamoring and screaming. Delight and death.
ah I am so glad to have left you with whale bones and bird mouths swimming around your mind - they take up about 80% of my brain I think :)
I hardly know where to begin - I look forward to Sunday mornings so much, and I delight in discovering what wonders will you will share. I think it might be our greater role to feel the sorrow and empathy that nature's seeming brutality does not countenance. To delight in the squarks and frolics of the raven fledgelings and at the same time mourn for the chick that became their breakfast. And I think, the 'not so pretty', the 'dark and lonely' are necessary, the messy, the imperfect - like jarring notes and disharmonies in music are necessary to making the whole piece dizzyingly beautiful. I am always delighted to see the buzzards and red kites and sparrowhawks, and I was so excited to see a raven when visiting Bridport earlier in May, but to see the magpie stabbing a duckling carcass as I walked along the river last weekend, and the mallards milling, watching, was a hard thing. I am truly honoured that you have mentioned my short story, thank you. I felt your words about writing in first person deeply - when writing the words of Earth, and Mira - surprisingly tangled and surprisingly separate. So beautifully put. I think I may be circling an understanding of my own one story, Mira's story has given me an inkling that I might be able to commit it to paper.. we shall see. I very much look forward to reading your story, when it is ready and the time is right.
I love how you linked this to music - yes yes yes - we need it all, shadow and light, harmony and disharmony, joy and pain, to really be able to appreciate it all. And what a thing it is to circle your own story - I can't wait to see the orbit it takes, if you do commit it to paper x
Sometimes loneliness sings from our shoulder like a wren. Thank you for this apt imagery and reflection on the complexities of life (and writing).
Thank you Lewis! I'm so glad you enjoyed it.
Killer whales visited our bay this week, too, and I had many similar thoughts as I raced around to catch a single glimpse of them. In May, here, it is harbor seal pups who fall prey. How can I ever wrap my head around what draws those magnificent whales into our shore.
Oh how wonderful that they came to your bay - did you manage to catch a sight of them?
I did! Just one peek at one whale, but it was so worth the scramble!
yay!!! I bet it was :')
Fascinating and brilliant, as always. Thank you
Thank you John, I'm so glad you enjoyed it!
I think so too, Rebecca. That writing is the opposite of being in control.
Once again, I feel I’m riding the tide with your words, their ebb and flow. With each lap against the shore, I see their wisdom and say ah yes. And with each crest, I find you churning and polishing a new iteration you will return with the next lap.
So lovely to think of you across the ocean riding the tide of these words, Holly! Thank you for being here x
In observing nature heartache is inevitable. Light gives birth to shadow; shadows then better define the light, drawing the eye and the emotion.
Control? Writing is perhaps more akin to entering a maze, and this is where my thoughts become lost.
Thank you, as always, Rebecca.
Your comments are always a poem, Michela! 'Light gives birth to shadow' - ah, yes! And yes also to writing being like entering a maze. I might think I have a plan for where I am going, but the words soon tell me otherwise. I have to close my eyes and let them take me where they will.
My husband and I were having a conversation along these very lines this morning- total different topics, same underlying theme of life. Thank you!
Thank you for reading, Sara, I'm so glad you enjoyed it - and that it tapped into what was already on your mind.
Thank you Rebecca for your beautiful words. Words that are simple, yet they bring us into profound thought.
Thank you Jeannine, I'm so glad you enjoyed this!
“Spending a lifetime trying to understand our story.” (And, as you describe, probably less trying and more simply receiving as it comes.) In my life, it’s in fits and starts, this understanding. Cognition and “making sense of it” always months or usually years later, and that’s the fun of it. The not knowing but jumping from the nest anyway. And if we’re torn apart by baby ravens along the way, well, that’s part of our story too then.
Thank you, always, for your wisdom and openness. ❤️
I am definitely coming to learn this too - that the making sense of a story can come years after the creation of it/recognition of it. Ah, being human is such an odd and mysterious experience! (As, I am sure, being a raven or a sparrow or a whale is too ;) ). Thank you as ever for being here ❤️
Isn't Strout a real treat? I recently read her first book Amy & Isabelle and am still mulling it over on walks. Her publisher might consider including a box of tissues with every one of her books!
Yes! She has been my favourite author since I first read Amy & Isabelle when I was a teen. Her prose is so clean and simple and yet also so incredibly sharp and insightful and beautiful. She is a master.
A beautiful post, Rebecca! So much for me to think about this morning. I look forward to reading your new fiction project. I imagine it will be remarkable. Remarkable as all your writings. Full of wonder and curiosity. Thank you.
Thank you so much for these kind words, Brian! That means a lot to me :)
Thank you for this beautiful tapestry of life and writing.
Thank you so much for reading, Leah, I'm glad you enjoyed it.