A Writer’s Revelation
Master the stuff, the words will freely follow.
Horace
(qtd. in Montaigne)
When things have taken possession of the mind,
words come thick and fast.
Seneca
(qtd. in Montaigne)
The things themselves carry the words along.
Yesterday I completed the first part of my novel entitled Family in Decline: a history both comic and grave. For the last three days I was editing and polishing; now I feel like I can take a mini-vacation from the manuscript. This is to restore myself and read more Russian novels.
We underestimate the restorative power of breaking from our work. After a small accomplishment one ought to rest and enjoy themselves. When I come back to the novel in a week, I will have a fresh perspective.
I wrote something in my journal several days ago that has stuck with me. I stated that in our progress toward achieving our goals we find that our relationship to the invisible becomes strengthened over our relationship to the visible. The example I cited was how in my writing I have recently shifted my focus from the written word—and from an activity of crafting words—to the symbolic realm, or the activity of directing images and ideas in the reader’s imagination. It seems to me that amateurs (myself included) tend to place more emphasis on the visible, whereas experienced writers know that the words will choose themselves if the ideas are there. That is, experienced writers are able to bring forth an unseen world. As someone who strives to understand and to know writing, this has been a revelation to me.
It is my relationship to the ineffable, the unspoken, the invisible that matters. This discovery has had an effect on how I view the act of writing. If it is my relationship to the invisible that matters, then the act of writing becomes even more intuitive than I once had suspected, and also, even more subject to the passions.
What I write is not the “thing”. But instead, what I write only suggests the “thing”, points to the “thing”, as a finger points to the moon. Not the individual sentences, words or phrases, but the ideas and images behind those words make up the “thing” driving a novel. Just as I learned in writing poetry, that words should not draw attention to themselves, that words should be transparent so the reader can see through them to the ideas and images of the poem, the same holds true for writing a novel.
On the one hand, this discovery seems to make the writing process even more mystifying, like an artist trying to get hold of an invisible thread; but in another sense, it’s a relief to know that each individual sentence is not as important. As writers we need not be over-identified with our specific language. Over-identification to words makes the writing stilted and self-conscious. Too much attention to words obscures the idea, and therefore, the writing itself. In contrast, reposing in the idea driving the work brings out the most curiously precise language.
This revelation of the primacy of the invisible is an insight I wish to pursue not only as it relates to my writing but also to other areas of my life. I have long been aware of the connection between writing and spirituality. And it occurs to me now that a relationship to God is no other than a relationship to the invisible, that is, “conscious contact” with the intangible and the ineffable.
5/5/2006