Something to Say: Writing for Art, for Therapy, for Self...and for the World

"We are a species that needs and wants to understand who we are. Sheep lice do not seem to share this longing, which is one reason why they write so little." -Anne Lamott


I've come to realize recently, as I write more and more and integrate the practice into my daily routine, that writing is not a path for everyone. In addition to the isolation that is necessary for the creation of art, writing is a therapeutic process. Much like meditation, or psychoanalysis, writing is primarily a system of sitting with one's thoughts -- the good, the bad, and the ugly -- and translating them into something workable. Even if what you're writing is the furthest thing from yourself or your own experiences, it is your thoughts, and only your thoughts, that construct, color, and influence your writing.

This can be a frightening, intimidating fact for most people, in much the same way that meditation and therapy can be. Who wants to sit quietly with their thoughts? Who wants to dredge up their soul and every ounce of their history just to write a decent sentence? Who wants to try to make sense of our truly fucked-up world?

Hmm. I do.

In Buddhism, there is a meditation practice called Metta, or loving-kindness. In this technique, you wish happiness, health, safety, and freedom to first yourself, then a mentor, a loved one, a "neutral person" (someone you neither love nor hate, like the 7-11 cashier or the big African lady who sells chunky tacky jewelry at the T station), an enemy, and, finally, all beings everywhere. It's a very uplifting style of meditation, and when you're finished with a Metta sitting, you often feel quite good. As if you've just done something to help the entire world.

Though you're writing may not help the entire world, the process of writing can be much the same. As writers, we are trying -- through our tireless inspection of ourselves -- to understand this Earth we all share. Instead of sending our loving intention through our writing (which, of course, is possible), we are sending our thoughts to ourselves, certain people in particular and the world as a whole, in a grand attempt to make sense of it all. It is our passion for understanding that drives us, and attaining any kind of true knowledge or understanding is always beneficial to not just the student, but the universe entire. Our writing is our love letter (or, in some cases, our hate mail) to the world.

This action of trying to figure out who we are and what it all means is an unspoken rule, or standard, in the writing process. There are all sorts of rules out there when it comes to the process of putting words to paper, but, as in all areas of life, certain rules work for certain people. Even those who buck traditional guidelines are still adhering to some set of rules, even if they are of their own fashioning.

Many great writers have shared their rules with us. Hemingway found it imperative -- so imperative that he made them his first two rules for writers -- to use short words and short sentences. George Orwell agreed with this less-is-more theory in his own set of rules, the last of which particularly like: "Break any of these rules sooner than saying anything outright barbarous." One of my favorite writers, Erica Jong, has a list of twenty rules for writers, all of which are practical, powerful, and can be applied to other areas of life as well. But Jong's "hidden" twenty-first rule is my favorite: "There are no rules."

What Jong is saying is exactly my point. There's no definitive set of rigid instructions a writer must follow. Just as we create our own art, we create our own rules for the creation of that art. The one common denominator, though, throughout the process of said creation is the either conscious or unconscious desire to understand ourselves. I'm a firm believer that we all just want to be heard, or, in the case of the writer, read. Not for sales, or money, or fame. But for understanding, empathy, and communion.

Just as the great majority of writing rules are not universal, neither are the ways in which writers approach their work, even on the most basic levels. For instance, I once read that Jong writes all of her novels in longhand on a yellow legal pad. As much as I adore her, this would never, ever work for me. I have never been able to seriously write with pen and paper; even from the first poems I wrote in my teens, I pecked them out on a Smith Corona word processor the size of a Ford Festiva. I need the feel and the sound of a keyboard beneath my fingertips: this sensory experience excites and inspires me. Indeed, in between rapidly-flying thoughts, in moments of downtime, my fingers are usually still resting on the keys, stroking them in a nearly sensual way. But the biggest reason I require a computer to write is that it's the only way my hands can keep up with my thoughts. I have true monkey mind, hence the name and totally random content of my blog), and my thoughts and ideas are constantly swinging from limb to limb and connecting to other ideas and thoughts. I am typically focused enough to keep all of them on whatever it is I'm writing, but I still need to get them out onto the page. Editing can come later. And I type about 100 words per minute, so my fingers do a pretty good job of keep step with the "idea monkeys" careening through my head.

Additionally, though I'm all for editing -- that fundamental process of weeding your word-garden -- as a step in the method, I'm not a writer who does tons and tons of drafts. I constantly second-guess myself, so poring over a manuscript dozens of times does nothing but make me more and more unsure about what I've created. A psychic once told me that I must always follow my first instinct in life. To this end, my first instinct usually emerges in the first draft. Not always, but usually. Going back and changing my intention invariably damages the integrity of my writing. Proofreading, editing, doing a little more research on certain topics...all of these I can handle. Redrafting my work to the point where even I don't recognize it is not a wise path for me to follow. I'd rather be rejected for telling my truth in the first draft than be loved for feeding cowpies to the reader in the 70th.

One big thing I've noted about my writing is the tendency I have toward the autobiographical, even if what I'm writing is as far away from autobiography as one can get. When I was immersed in writing my romance novel, I noticed that aspects of both myself and others in my life were popping up in my characters. Being that a heterosexual historical romance novel is light years away from any experience I've had in my own life, this integration of real people into its story was entirely unconscious. For example, I based one of my characters on my friend Molly: her personality, physicality, and sense of humor; I even named her Molly. It wasn't until later that I fully realized this.

Employing this technique, however unconscious, can be risky. It's a sort of opening-up of our real lives and showing it to the world. The chances of getting hurt, or hurting others, are significant. To give another Erica Jong scenario, when she published "Fear of Flying", many felt the book was a thinly-veiled autobiography. Jong has neither confirmed nor denied this, though there are indeed many similarities to her own life. This opening-up caused great rifts in her family, and though the book was published 35 years ago, one of her sisters, Suzanna Daou, publicly confronted her during a lecture just a few months ago. She resented what she felt was Jong's unnecessary "exposé" of Daou's life all those years ago. "'Fear of Flying' has been a thorn in my flesh for thirty-five years," Daou commented. So you see, inserting people from your own life, or even aspects of those people, could very possibly cause some great pain. And not pain that goes away quickly. Thirty-five years is a long time to carry resentment, especially when it's targeted toward someone as vital as a sibling. But just as Daou's truth is her own, so too is Jong's. I guess the bottom line is this: write your truth, always and forever, but it's not worth risking a valued relationship. If it's someone you hate, it's a different story. Go ahead and make that mean-ass meter maid a serial killer in your novel. Unless, of course, she's your sister.

This is an observation I have to keep a close eye on in my writing. As much as I love to write, I also love the people in my life. My writing may end up in the bargain bin of Half Price Books. My loved ones, more than likely, will not.

But all of this brings me back to the theory that self-knowledge is the silent undercurrent to all writing. Examining what rules work for us, how we approach our craft, what tools we use and don't use, and the inherent risks in baring our souls, are all pathways forged in purpose of a higher goal: to make sense of our lives and, by extension, the world. In our struggle for understanding, we all have something to say that is important, powerful, and of immeasurable value to at least one reader out there. Even if that one reader is the one who wrote it.

As F. Scott Fitzgerald said, "The reason one writes isn't the fact he wants to say something. He writes because he has something to say."