Amazing article Alison! Realizing I need to work at untethering my left brain - the brain that has been recognized, encouraged, and admired by my friends, family and profession. This to open up the space and emptiness necessary to create whatever negative capability is required in my writing• I have been nibbling at the edges of my novel, afraid to dive in to feast on its essence - lest I come down with indigestion ha ha.
Thank you for reading, Joan. I think to begin with just letting your mind and gut/soul sit with this thought. Absorb, so that thought of "indigestion" knows to slink off and stay away...
As my father slid into the long loss of memory that came with his Alzheimer's, his last battle was to try to challenge the certainty of one group (and their attempt to impose that certainty on others). He wrote letters to the editor, spoke about this in his church (and was eventually excommunicated by them for this), railing against the danger to society when one party or group of people couldn't tolerant any ambiguity, were black and white thinkers. This is what I was reminded of with your use of the phrase of negative capability. And I realize that as a story teller-both in my profession as a historian and my current life as a writer--I turn to my father's words, trying to create both a narrative of past events and fictional characters who can accept the discomfort of not knowing, of even discovering that what they thought they knew might be wrong. As a mystery writer, I do try to give readers a sense of closure, that the wrongs have been righted, the confusion cleared up, but I can see that this gives me the leeway to also challenge the reader to accept--tolerate--the ambiguities of life. In my own life, I can see the damage I have done with my certainty, and the joy I can get if I just say, I don't know. As usual, thanks for the thought-provoking piece.
Much to think about here, Mary Lou--thank you for sharing. The generational knowledge and lessons--you father was a brave man to wade in. But now you carry that with you. And I resonate with your line about the damage done by our own certainty.
To open to this in our work is just the beginning.
I love this. It took me a long time with photographs to learn about the use of "negative space" (and even now I don't use it extensively). I know I am trying to let more mystery appear in my writing, letting go of concrete facts more often in order to share experience. The feeling experience can get lost in too many words.
And yes, honestly, every week exactly what I need comes to me somewhere. It might come from another writer (on a topic you'd never imagine), from a comment at work, from a random post, from a dream or from a friend. But it comes. Every time it reminds me the mystery is there, weaving behind the scenes.
Claude Debussy once said that he was more intrigued with the spaces between notes than the notes themselves. Miles Davis expressed a similar idea with his music. With writing it is the word that is not said. Say what you want about Ernest Hemingway but his true skill was in self-editing. His first drafts are tripe; but to see what he crossed out, what he ended up with, is to see his mastery of the craft. With folks who worked with me, I described the process as going through your words with a fine-toothed comb, getting out all the nits and the unnecessaries. And I think that, too, adds mystery.
I appreciated your thought that "every week exactly what I need comes to me..." And that is the true mystery, isn't it? But I think that's what Alison is talking about--reaching the zone where you let things in, let things go, let things happen.
OK. I'm going to start earlier than I think I should, but I will, I promise, end sooner than I think I should:
"Do you find when you are writing, absorbed in the task of weaving your story, your poem, your words, that all that comes to you, while in that space, eventually connects in the oddest ways—even the most disparate pieces?"
Yes. Like two years ago when I was writing a character piece to be presented on stage and I wrote "he" instead of "it", a typo, brain fart ... or, was it? ... I went with it. He became another character, a ghost, an "ancestor" as the Abenaki refer to them, and, now, later, he has become the central thread of my novel, the understory.
As to the rest of what you've written, again, too much information: It is sweltering. My brain is hazing over. I must get me to the river. But... I will be back to read this again. There is so so much in it and I so appreciate the things you are saying and discussing. Clearer heads will prevail.
Amazing article Alison! Realizing I need to work at untethering my left brain - the brain that has been recognized, encouraged, and admired by my friends, family and profession. This to open up the space and emptiness necessary to create whatever negative capability is required in my writing• I have been nibbling at the edges of my novel, afraid to dive in to feast on its essence - lest I come down with indigestion ha ha.
Thank you for reading, Joan. I think to begin with just letting your mind and gut/soul sit with this thought. Absorb, so that thought of "indigestion" knows to slink off and stay away...
As my father slid into the long loss of memory that came with his Alzheimer's, his last battle was to try to challenge the certainty of one group (and their attempt to impose that certainty on others). He wrote letters to the editor, spoke about this in his church (and was eventually excommunicated by them for this), railing against the danger to society when one party or group of people couldn't tolerant any ambiguity, were black and white thinkers. This is what I was reminded of with your use of the phrase of negative capability. And I realize that as a story teller-both in my profession as a historian and my current life as a writer--I turn to my father's words, trying to create both a narrative of past events and fictional characters who can accept the discomfort of not knowing, of even discovering that what they thought they knew might be wrong. As a mystery writer, I do try to give readers a sense of closure, that the wrongs have been righted, the confusion cleared up, but I can see that this gives me the leeway to also challenge the reader to accept--tolerate--the ambiguities of life. In my own life, I can see the damage I have done with my certainty, and the joy I can get if I just say, I don't know. As usual, thanks for the thought-provoking piece.
Much to think about here, Mary Lou--thank you for sharing. The generational knowledge and lessons--you father was a brave man to wade in. But now you carry that with you. And I resonate with your line about the damage done by our own certainty.
To open to this in our work is just the beginning.
I love this. It took me a long time with photographs to learn about the use of "negative space" (and even now I don't use it extensively). I know I am trying to let more mystery appear in my writing, letting go of concrete facts more often in order to share experience. The feeling experience can get lost in too many words.
And yes, honestly, every week exactly what I need comes to me somewhere. It might come from another writer (on a topic you'd never imagine), from a comment at work, from a random post, from a dream or from a friend. But it comes. Every time it reminds me the mystery is there, weaving behind the scenes.
The openness, to receive, is mysterious.
Your photos always slow me. I have to pause long with each.
And your last newsletter is still on my mind--very good. Had to read more than once.
Thank you, Karen.
Claude Debussy once said that he was more intrigued with the spaces between notes than the notes themselves. Miles Davis expressed a similar idea with his music. With writing it is the word that is not said. Say what you want about Ernest Hemingway but his true skill was in self-editing. His first drafts are tripe; but to see what he crossed out, what he ended up with, is to see his mastery of the craft. With folks who worked with me, I described the process as going through your words with a fine-toothed comb, getting out all the nits and the unnecessaries. And I think that, too, adds mystery.
I appreciated your thought that "every week exactly what I need comes to me..." And that is the true mystery, isn't it? But I think that's what Alison is talking about--reaching the zone where you let things in, let things go, let things happen.
Be well.
“Creative work is birthed of mystery” so good, Alison !
Cakes, on the other hand, are sheer genius! :)
:)
OK. I'm going to start earlier than I think I should, but I will, I promise, end sooner than I think I should:
"Do you find when you are writing, absorbed in the task of weaving your story, your poem, your words, that all that comes to you, while in that space, eventually connects in the oddest ways—even the most disparate pieces?"
Yes. Like two years ago when I was writing a character piece to be presented on stage and I wrote "he" instead of "it", a typo, brain fart ... or, was it? ... I went with it. He became another character, a ghost, an "ancestor" as the Abenaki refer to them, and, now, later, he has become the central thread of my novel, the understory.
As to the rest of what you've written, again, too much information: It is sweltering. My brain is hazing over. I must get me to the river. But... I will be back to read this again. There is so so much in it and I so appreciate the things you are saying and discussing. Clearer heads will prevail.
Be well.
Typos--for a reason. Thank you for sharing.