Basics for the New Year

As we start the New Year, it is good to go and get a dose of the basics. (It is good anytime, but somehow the start of 2013 seems like a good excuse.)

I just finished reading The Lives of a Cell by Lewis Thomas. This is collection of essays that originally appeared in the New England Journal of Medicine. The essays are short and cover a variety of subjects, from language to human nature to ecology, which is to say that they are not strictly about medicine.

In one of the last essays (entitled Living Language) there is a reference to the work of a French zoologist named Pierre-Paul Grasse. In presenting a word that this fellow had made up (“stigmergy”) in order to explain the nest-building behavior of termites, Thomas summarizes Gasse’s idea in the following way. “It is the product of work itself that provides both the stimulus and instructions for further work.”

Writers should read widely. And it is when I find nuggets like this that I realize one of the values of such advise. A guy in France thinking about termites in 1967 reminds and refocuses me as I write fiction, poetry, and memoir in 2013.

The Message According to Luke

About that time Caesar Augustus ordered a census to be taken throughout the empire. This was the first census when Quirinius was governor of Syria. Everyone had to travel to his own ancestral hometown to be accounted for. So Joseph went from the Galilean town of Nazareth up to Bethlehem in Judah, David’s town, for the census. As a descendant of David, he had to go there. He went with Mary, his fiancé, who was pregnant.

While they were there, the time came for her to give birth. She gave birth to a son, her firstborn. She wrapped him in a blanket and laid him in a manger, because there was no room in the hostel.

There were sheepherders camping in the neighborhood. They had set night watches over their sheep. Suddenly, God’s angel stood among them and God’s glory blazed around them. They were terrified. The angel said, “Don’t be afraid. I’m here to announce a great and joyful event that is meant for everybody, worldwide: A Savior has just been born in David’s town, a Savior who is Messiah and Master. This is what you’re to look for: a baby wrapped in a blanket and lying in a manger.”

At once the angel was joined by a huge angelic choir singing God’s praises: Glory to God in the heavenly heights, peace to all men and women on earth who please him.

As the angel choir withdrew into heaven, the sheepherders talked it over. “Let’s get over to Bethlehem as fast as we can and see for ourselves what God has revealed to us.” They left, running, and found Mary and Joseph, and the baby lying in the manger. Seeing was believing. They told everyone they met what the angels had said about this child. All who heard the sheepherders were impressed.

Writer’s Faith

Here is an excerpt from my prayer book, 25th of November:

“You delight in creative work. You laid a foundation of creativity and You exercise Your creative genius daily at the intersections of the lives of men. So, why would You not partner with me in writing my book on Adam? It is obvious You would and do. Having You as my writing partner I can relax. I can trust that You understand fully not only the goal of my work, but that You have already imagined it, seen the final draft, and know the impact it will have. All I need to do is write.”

All I can do is write. No writer gets anywhere any other way. Beyond doing the work, writers trust the process of discovery. Some also trust the oversight, and occasional guidance of the muse. This is true of me too, except for the placement of my trust. I trust the creative process of writing, but the Author of that process – the creator of creativity is not an occasional visitor, not a ghost. He has the seat at the head of the table. He is the source. It is only by His creative energy that I re-create. In creating man He wired us to follow Him in this. He made us with the capacity and desire to paint, sculpt, and write. And He delights in guiding us in these as well.

Herman

On November 13th, a new novel, The Lawgiver, went on sale. I was scrolling through the New York Times Book Review and read that the same fellow who saw his book The Caine Mutiny win the Pulitzer Prize in 1952 and Humphrey Bogart play the leading role in the film, had released his latest book. Yep, Herman Wouk, at 97, has a new novel out this holiday season, and is a good deal into writing his next one.

This was an absolute hoot to learn, and then I scrolled a bit further down the page. There I found another article which stated that Phillip Roth has declared that he is done writing at 80. Eighty? And throw away another two decades of productivity? I’ll bet you my lunch we’ll see another book from Roth. He won’t be able to help himself. I remember Kurt Vonnegut kept saying, with each of the last five or so books, that it was his last. Vonnegut did not write his last book. Death simply got him before he could write another one.

The fact is that writers don’t retire or stop writing before they die. We aren’t capable of it. Writing is how we come to see, and more importantly, process the world. When asked if he would be stopping, Wouk asked the interviewer what else he would do if he didn’t write. Indeed, a lifetime spent honing a skill and fashioning a lifestyle of writing does not end like a job at the bank or wind to conclusion like some corporate executive post.

I am just as impressed as you are that Mr. Wouk has given us another novel. My hat is off to him. But I am not surprised. The unexpected and the unexplainable would be if he hadn’t.

These Things That Cause Us Pause

Story is not composed of the everyday routine happenings, but nearly every day there is a story that reveals itself to us. Every day contains a few minutes here or there where we experience something that should demand our creative attention. As writers we must, in the hustle-bustle of each day, train ourselves to recognize these things that cause us pause, and not simply treat them like mortal men and women do – respond or react and go on – but recognize these for what they are – fruit to be plucked – and write them, record them, prize them.

I was driving home from work one day and I noticed in the car behind me was a couple having an argument. Pretty soon I realized the male, who was driving, was physically abusing the female. Traffic was stopped and I saw all this happening right there in my rear view mirror. A traffic officer was directing us through an intersection so we were stop and go. Finally, when it came my turn I stopped in front of the cop and told him what was going on. He signaled the car to pull over and I went on home.

This image hit me viscerally. I wondered about the girl and if my alerting the police caused her further trouble. I thought about the cop who had to deal with yet another domestic disturbance. As you can see, in a few seconds a story spins out. Real event + imagined details = story.

But, shame on me. For this is the first time I’ve written about it. The first time I have captured its energy.

Applause

I knew a guy in college whose name was Paul. Paul was a classical piano major. He practiced diligently for six hours a day – 3 in the morning and 3 at night – 7 days a week. He had discipline of which I knew nothing. When the time came, I went to Paul’s senior recital. He was serious that night as he sat down at the piano and played. He was also very expressive; his whole upper body pitched and leaned with the tone and pace of each piece. It was impressive. When he finished, he stood by the piano bench and bowed while everyone cheered. We then went into the lobby for refreshments.

I spoke to Paul later that evening. I told him that he had done very well. Paul said thanks. Then he went on to say that while all the people at his recital had been so enthusiastic, they had no idea what had gone into the evening. There had been no one applauding him each time he went into or came out of the practice room. Only he knew what it had taken to get there, and the applause was nice, but did not mean as much as those applauding thought it did.

On the list of things that motivate us to do our creative work, applause cannot be one of them. The praise of others cannot be guaranteed, nor should it be necessary. If it comes, good. But it will likely not come or come infrequently and unpredictably. Even when it does come, those doling it out are really praising you only for what they can see and hear. Applause is simply a few folks noticing, observing what you are doing in the moment. Applause has little to do with your reason for doing. I think this was Paul’s point.

More Than I Can Chew

“If I have the belief that I can do it, I shall surely acquire the capacity to do it even if I may not have it at the beginning.” – Mahatma Gandhi

In the dictionary of idioms, if you look up ‘biting off more than you can chew’, there will be a picture of me sitting with my laptop writing my book. (Maybe in your dictionary the picture is of you – writing, planning your own business, on a treadmill.) Many of us have story ideas that are large and unwieldy and beyond our immediate, possessed capabilities. We write armed only with the knowledge we gained yesterday and a hope for what might be known tomorrow.

There is an oasis to which we must return over and over along the way – the pool of simple belief that we can indeed do it. It is a blind belief. We may not be capable, yet, but capability will come with the course. Capability breeds capability. It is only after we have accomplished a task that we have the skill and ability to do it. This is the difference between doing something the first time and doing it the second time. This is the way-station on the road to mastery. It is in doing that we become.

Write What You Know, Seriously

I recently had a conversation with one of our pathologists at work. He and I have had several conversations – great conversations. He is a very good conversationalist. We usually talk about ideas and their impact. Heady stuff. Bless his heart for entertaining me.

During this last conversation I learned that he has written most of a novel and several short stories. He went on to describe several engaging plots – stuff I’d like to read. While he surprised me with this revelation of creative work, he did not surprise me with the subjects he has covered in his writing – military history, airplanes, boats, guns, medicine. You see, I have had several conversations with this guy and he knows a lot about these things – way more than I do, and I’ll bet more than you do too.

Here is what I told him. Here is what I believe. I told him that he is uniquely positioned, most qualified, to be writing the plots he outlined for me. In fact, he should be writing these plots. When you have developed knowledge in an area, and you have an urge to write, you need to do it. You are sort of ripping us (the reading public) off if you don’t. You can do humanity a service. So, why in the world wouldn’t you?

Write what you know. Seriously. It is what others will find most interesting. It is what you have to give. What you think is pedestrian, your old-hat is, in fact, your best material. And readers are waiting.

What I Am Most Proud Of

I have been asked a few times if I write longhand or on the computer. I have heard myself say that I do shorter pieces longhand and that I compose on the computer – I don’t know, I think I just make something up. But here is the truth. The real work is done away from the keyboard, off the computer – when I take a hardcopy (a print out) and sit down with it, when I hang my head over it, when I go one-on-one with the words. It is then that I can best manipulate them. With my pencil I prod and poke. I carve at the flesh of the words. I separate them, insert and graft new life. I can see their possibility as they lie naked and real on the page before me. I can hammer and chisel them on toward what they will become.

More than once, at the office, following an hour or two meeting, the tussle ended, I have looked at the cluttered whiteboard hanging on the wall and thought it to be a true art object. A thing of beauty like a woodshop covered in sawdust. The machines coated, glue applied, clamps tensioned. Such things are beautiful because of the hope they hold. The hope for what is possible. For what might be.

I think that of all that I produce as a writer, these edited, carved, sliced up drafts, ready for rekeying into the computer, are what I am most proud of. They are objects of beauty. Evidence that I am doing the work. The vessels holding my creative hope.

The Thoughts We Have

My brother and I had a good talk late one recent evening about the value of writing. Not creative writing necessarily, but journaling, writing for discovery. We discussed how many of the thoughts we have are of no value. They are truly unknowable because they never make it into language. We cannot really understand our thoughts without writing them, or at least, writing them is the best way to crack the code of our thoughts. When we write about anything – a problem, a feeling, a story idea – we find certainty. We find out what we know and we are able to poke at it, test it, outside our minds where there is objectivity. Language forces a structure, requires logic, drives conclusion and understanding. I don’t know of a better, so easily accessible tool for developing oneself.

But how does this relate to creative writing? The ideas you have for a story, until they are on paper, cannot be trusted. Many, many times I have had ideas that I thought were great, really going to make a difference in my story. I sat down to write them and there was nothing, there was only an imagination. Just as many times I have had only a phrase or a simple image come to mind which I nearly dismissed as a cobweb. But when I picked up a napkin to jot it down it opened up to all kinds of possibilities – sometimes forming cornerstones and critical turning points I had not seen coming.

You cannot trust what is in your mind. That space in there is too complex, too secluded to be a place where things come to be. Learn to pay attention to the scraps that the machine discards and don’t let it fool you into believing that it is the source of understanding.