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Week
5: Gaining Perspective
Or, Why We Need to Read Aloud
In week 3, I spoke about
the importance of getting support for your writing. I also have encouraged
you to post your writing to the listserv. Now we are going to take this
one step further: reading aloud to our classmates, in teams of two.
Although it can feel scary, sharing your writing with other people is
actually a great way of getting support. It is also a way to urge ourselves
deeper into our writing.
For the purposes of this class, just as we have not critiqued work that
has been posted online, we will also not offer any critique to the person
who reads aloud to us. We are working on diving deeper into creativity.
Critique tends to have a "reigning in" effect on creativity. Critique
is extremely useful, but it does make us aware of outside eyes. To go
deep in our souls we are better off to be able to dive in, surface to
read aloud what we've excavated, and then plunge under the surface again.
Our purpose in reading aloud is not to get "feedback" in the sense of
"I liked this. I didn't like that." It is to include others in our partnership
with the muse. The energy of many people attentively listening and writing
is stronger than the energy of one. That has been a big reason for why
I've wanted you to post your writing practice on the listserv. I want
you to read aloud to each other so that you will know you have the energy
of many people behind you. I want you to feel that much more energized
and gutsy when you next sit down to write -- to feel that you have the
power to read your work aloud and to return to dig up anything, rich
and dark or glittering and brilliant, that's lurking at the bottom of
your mind.
Why else is it important to read aloud? Reading your writing out loud
is crucial for many reasons. For one thing, you hear all sorts of stuff
in your writing when it's spoken that you don't hear when you see it
on the page. Poetry, for instance, is a musical form. It absolutely
must be read during its creation. But other forms, too, need to be read
aloud.
Plays are acted. They are all dialogue. Dialogue has to sound a particular
way in the mouth. Dialogue can look great on paper and taste like cardboard
on your tongue.
For memoir, essays, fiction, reading aloud is also essential. When you
read aloud you become more aware of your patterns -- which words or
sentence structures you repeat, for instance. You also hear where your
writing is melodic and persuasive and where it sounds tinny or hackneyed.
You usually also find editing mistakes that you missed when the words
were only on the page.
Even reading out loud to yourself makes a big difference. I guarantee
you will be a better writer if you read your work aloud.
Additionally, reading your work to another person, even a person who
does not say anything, is a social, interactive experience. You get
a sense of where the other person is really riveted and moved and where
their attention might be starting to wander. It takes writing out of
the realm of the solitary pursuit and puts it in the realm of performance
and art, where it belongs. (And once you're used to reading your work
out loud, if the other person can give you some helpful feedback --
a response that is useful and respectful that allows you to see your
work more clearly -- that gives you a huge advantage!)
Finally, reading your work aloud helps you to take some of the big,
scary weight out of it. If we are alone too much with our words on the
page they can become larger than life. We can become paranoid and secretive.
We lose touch with where we felt the most alive and zingy in our writing
and where it might need some revision. This dulls our inspirational
edge. We start to think it's all a bunch of pig crap. Or we think it's
God's word, flowing directly through our pens. It is easy to get wrapped
up in minutiae. Even the brilliant Oscar Wilde once said, when asked
how his writing was going, that it was marvelous, "I spent the morning
putting in a comma and spent the afternoon taking it out." I have certainly
been there. As a proofreader, I am extremely picky about details, including
commas. However, if we focus too much on moving the commas around, it's
usually an indication that it's time for some broader perspective. That's
often the point where I need someone else's ears and eyes, when I need
to bring my work out of the dark and see which lines sparkle and which
need to be buried in the earth again.
Reading our work to other people helps us get grounded in the world
while keeping our writing in perspective. As part of writing practice,
reading aloud can help you get free of the feeling of constraint, that
each piece must be fabulous. When you get into the habit of writing
for a period of time, then reading it, then writing some more, you learn
to let things go. You aren't stranded in the muck and mire of the page
-- you can lift your head up and get some air before you plunge back
down. It gives you a chance to breathe so you return to writing practice
fresher and more grounded.
I have heard all sorts of reasons from writers who do not want to share
their work. Some fear that other people will steal their ideas and publish
them. Many are sure it will be horribly embarrassing and upsetting and
they will die of shame (because the writing is so bad, because the material
is so gruesome, because their secrets will be told, etc.).
Overall, the reasons break down into one of two camps for why the writing
is private and should remain private. (1) It is so wonderful that it
cannot be shared: because someone will steal it or because it could
never possibly be appreciated correctly. (2) It is so awful that it
cannot be shared: because it is written so badly or it will reveal shameful
things and thus the people who hear it will shun or make fun of the
writer or otherwise hurt her/him and realize that s/he is a faker and
a fraud.
I would like to address these specific fears. While I cannot guarantee
you that nobody will steal your work and publish it, I have to say that
it is exceedingly unlikely. As any freelance writer can tell you, it
is a tremendous amount of work to get published. Actually, the business
side of writing is often much more labor-intensive than the craft itself.
And the pay, to put it bluntly, sucks. It really, really sucks. Those
of us who do put the blood, sweat, and tears into marketing our work
do it primarily because we believe in our writing and we want the rest
of the world to see the fruit of our labors. So it is very hard for
me to imagine someone going to the great effort of getting something
published that is not even his or her own work! Why would they bother?
Why would they care?
If you do think your work is absolutely fabulous and perfect and have
no need for outside input, then that is great. More power to you. It
is a rare and wondrous thing for someone to feel totally happy and complete
inside themselves with something they are creating; if writing does
that for you, it is already serving a great purpose. Then you probably
don't need to take a class because people who take classes generally
feel they have something to learn. So you are probably not in this class
anyway!
The much more common fear is that your work will reveal something bad
about you -- either that you are a bad writer or that you are a bad
person. Let's start with the fear that your writing will reveal something
bad about you, as a person. We all have this fear from time to time,
especially if we are writing about something personal -- something painful
or a way that we acted of which we are not proud. We might even feel
this way when we write fiction, worrying that the audience will think
it is actually autobiography.
It's important to remind ourselves that what we write and who we are
as people are not necessarily related. If you think you are a good person,
you probably are. And whether you think you're a good person will probably
not stem from how you rate the quality of your poetry or prose. More
likely you measure this by how you treat your friends and family or
whether you are honest or devote yourself to causes that you care about.
Writing will not change any of that. Furthermore, being a great writer
does not make you a great person. One of my favorite authors has a terrible
personality. I would absolutely hate to be in a room with her -- I've
read interviews with her where she goes on and on about how ground-breaking
and brilliant she is, about how she's the only good writer alive today.
Yuck! But her writing is exquisite. You and your writing are separate
entities. It's easy to get the two mixed up, especially because other
people (particularly nonwriters) have a tendency to think that all work
is autobiography. But even autobiography is not you; it's just you writing
about some things that happened to you.
But what happens when you do read something and it's scary, painful,
or revelatory? What happens if you cry while you are reading? That's
OK, just keep reading. When I took self-defense classes we had a motto:
Feel the fear and do it anyway. That's a lot of what writing is about.
When you feel your stomach clench as you start to write something, that's
where you should go -- right into the fear. And then when you read that
work aloud, try to let it go. Try to let the words just come through
you and don't think about the fact that they are your words. Just let
them be the moment they were when you wrote them. It will get easier
in time. And if you need to, have someone hold your hand when you read.
Also, my overwhelming experience is that usually, when we read aloud
work that touches on what has been most painful or shameful in our lives,
instead of people turning from us in disgust, the opposite happens:
they turn toward us, in kinship. We often find that our private experience
has been the private burden for another, too. Laying out those words
in the light of day brings us closer together. Good writing is about
telling the truth, even if it's fiction. Indeed, think about the people
in your life you love the most as well as the fictional characters who
have won your hearts. Are any of them perfect? Did any of them sail
through life without any challenges or rough times? I doubt it. The
most beloved characters usually have a lot of flaws. The same is true
of people. So read your truth, whether fiction, poetry, or prose, even
if it feels ugly, and allow yourself to be supported for it. Let the
light shine on your work and on your face as you read it -- the parts
that are glittering with truth will sparkle.
Let me say that of course it is OK to keep some of your writing to yourself.
We all have the right to privacy. And sometimes knowing that something
you write will be kept private allows you to go deeper and reveal more.
Sometimes you need to keep a piece of writing "in solitude" for a period
of time before you are able to read it aloud. That is OK, too. Just
don't get in the habit of keeping everything you write a deep, dark
secret.
Now for the fear that your work is bad -- that you will be revealed
as a bad writer if you read aloud. Let me stress that these worries
are normal and natural, and, unfortunately, if you read your work to
the wrong people, your fears may be realized when your work is critiqued
too harshly. So use care in who you read your work to. If you are a
new writer and you are not used to reading your work aloud, do not start
with a critique group -- often called "workshops," "feedback groups,"
or sometimes just "writing classes." Find out ahead of time how the
class or group functions. Some new writers have had their first attempts
ripped to shreds. This can be devastating emotionally and professionally.
There are groups, however, where people read and write and nobody gives
any feedback. Or some groups where only positive feedback is acceptable.
That can be a good place to start if you're nervous about how your work
will be received.
You can also start with a trusted friend. Tell her or him what you want.
"I'm going to read this to you. At the end, don't say anything," or
"at the end, just tell me to keep writing," or "at the end, only tell
me the parts you liked." It is OK to do this. It is OK to ask for the
support you need.
As for whether your work is "good" -- this is not a useful way to judge
your craft. You may have pieces that are not right for getting published
or for sharing with everyone, but they should be valued for being your
efforts. Whatever you write, if it has meaning to you -- whether that
meaning is that it makes you laugh or that you are finally speaking
the truth after a long silence or that you are taking a risk in your
craft -- it will be worthwhile writing. If your words are meaningful
-- to you or to the reader -- then they are good, no matter whether
your name is going to be on the best-seller list or not.
Also, I truly believe that everyone can write. Writing is a skill. It
takes practice. If you want to write, and you practice, you will become
a better writer. And in order to practice you have to take risks. That's
where the crapulence comes in. If you always write the same stuff that
is safe and familiar, you will not get to that deeper level where you
are experiencing the freedom and passion that come with connected writing.
So you will go through some awkward periods, some times of testing this
or that out. The people who hear your work -- including you -- should
know and accept this and applaud you for taking creative chances and
not tell you to go back to the old reliable way.
Perhaps you are thinking, "yeah, but some people are just naturally
talented and all their writing is great." First of all, yes, some people
are gifted with more natural ability than others, but no, I doubt that
all of anyone's writing is great. Even a great writer can always get
better. In fact, I think the hallmark of a good artist is often her
drive to hone her craft, no matter what. That almost always results
in some "flops." For instance, The Bean Trees by Barbara
Kingsolver is a great book. It is one of my favorites. But when I read
The Poisonwood Bible a few years later, I was totally blown
away. It's a masterpiece, utterly brilliant. It made her earlier work
seem pale in comparison. I mention this because between writing Bean
Trees and Poisonwood , Kingsolver wrote Animal
Dreams , which is not one of my favorite books. I found it difficult
to care about some of the characters. I only finished it because it
was by one of my favorite authors. But I don't begrudge Kingsolver one
word of Animal Dreams because it helped bring her to a
place where she was able to write Poisonwood . Wherever
you are, you can always get better. We are all working with very different
material -- not the pens and paper but the thoughts, feelings, and imagination.
In this case, how can you compare your writing to someone else's? Are
your thoughts and feelings bad while someone else's are good? No, they
are all worthwhile, and your job should be to find the truest, most
exciting way to express yours.
Another fabulous reason to read aloud as part of your writing practice
is that when you do read something that is not your best, it doesn't
have to mean so much. If you are reading your work aloud every time
you do writing practice -- even if it's only for your ears -- you will
get in the habit of hearing your work. So when the day inevitably comes
that you read a piece that is not stellar, it will just be one of many
of your writings that you have heard. It will not have to mean that
this one unexciting bit of prose is the final word in your writing talent.
Because you will go on and write more and read that aloud, too. So get
in the habit of reading your work aloud; when you read something that
is not so hot, it will just be one tiny bit of paper in a bag of confetti.
And what is "good" anyway? Obviously art is subjective. I sometimes
read award-winning work that I find totally uninspiring, while the early
and unpublished efforts of some of my friends are gripping and thrilling
to me.
All I can tell you about fearing that you will be perceived as a bad
writer is that everyone has this fear. I tend to be the most shy and
worried about sharing my work when it is my strongest, boldest writing.
Often this is because I have really let go in some way -- to explore
a dark side of my psyche or to write about sex or to try a new style
or form in my writing. No matter how far along you get in your writing,
you will probably still have the fear, in some part of your mind, that
you are not really a good writer. Most of the time -- about ninety-one
percent of the time -- I think I'm a good writer. But that nine percent
where I'm convinced I'm a faker and a fraud can creep in, making me
dread when I will be unmasked. However, I have found ways to not let
that part have the upper hand, most of the time.
How have I done this? By using a lot of the basic tenets I have set
forth in this class: by giving myself permission to write junk and to
experiment, to learn new forms, to take risks; by spending many years
working hard, practicing, and learning to accept useful criticism; by
reading a lot of good writing (and some bad writing) and learning from
it; by surrounding myself with people who will support me in my writing
and tell me that I am a good writer. It is mostly about sticking with
it -- following your joy in writing and having faith that if you stick
with it, you will become a better writer.
Look, being a writer is like being in a relationship. When you first
start dating someone everything is dreamy and fabulous. Then, there
is a long period where you have doubts that come and go: Are we right
for each other? Will we be compatible in this or that way? Will we have
fun together? Will we last? Problems arise, about money or sex or differences
of opinion, and you do your best to deal with them while keeping your
integrity and staying in the relationship. Amidst those doubts you also
have the good times: the love grows, you make each other laugh, you
learn each other's habits -- some are endearing, others annoy you, most
probably do both. Eventually, if the relationship lasts, you have a
level of acceptance and certainty -- you count on the other person being
in your life. You still go through hard times, but you have a sense
of history and commitment.
This is what writing has been like for me. I have formed a long-term
relationship with writing. Sometimes I go off in a new direction and
it takes a while for the writing to settle into that new style and find
its voice in a powerful way. But I have enough confidence and security
now, in my relationship to writing, that I can handle that awkward transitional
period.
For instance, for several years my poetry tended to be lyrical, with
great emphasis on sound and rhythm, containing short lines, and usually
the poems themselves were short. At one point I felt pulled to write
poetry in a new way, with very long lines, in a sort of prosey style
that might go on for several pages, with a greater emphasis on intellect
and story telling. I read one of these new creations to a friend who
is also a writer. She started to give me feedback: "It needs to be tightened
up and that part doesn't work near the end. . ." I cut her off. "I'm
experimenting," I said, "I know it's not good yet. I just want encouragement
to experiment in this direction, to keep writing." She caught on right
away, because she is a wonderful friend and writer. "Yes," she said,
"keep writing. Go for it." And I did, and now I have some successful
pieces that use that style.
When I first began my journey as a poet, I would not have been able
to be so clear about what I needed and what I was doing. I might have
listened to her critique and tried to apply it, even though that was
not what I needed, and it might have kept me from taking this new, exciting
risk. But I had been in this relationship to my writing long enough
that I knew what I needed to keep it growing. It is the same as if I
was going through a hard time with a lover and I needed my friends not
to say that my lover is a jerk (even if my lover were acting like a
jerk); I need their encouragement to help me find my own truth and clarity
in the relationship. If you have made a commitment to your partner,
you hold on, even when you are uncertain if it's the right choice or
not. Eventually you will gain clarity, "Oh yes, we can make it through
this tough time," or "Oh no, we have tried everything and it keeps getting
worse. It's time for me to get out." So give yourself time if you suffer
from "pretender syndrome" and think you are not really a writer. You
are. If you write, you are a writer. Over time, if you continue to write,
you will know you are a writer. You will have sunk roots into this relationship
and that history will support you when you feel queasy about a new piece
of work, about reading aloud, about tackling new challenges in your
writing. And if you keep working hard at your craft, you will be a good
writer.
I hope that that puts the fear of reading aloud to rest, at least for
now. You can come back to it and worry about it later, if you like --
after you have already read some of your work aloud.
ASSIGNMENT 5
Please do a fifteen-minute timed writing on one of the topics below.
You will be reading this piece to somebody else in the class by telephone.
Use the "what I really mean to say is. . . ." technique that was discussed
earlier in the course. All the same rules apply as before: Go for the
crapulence! Write whatever comes into your head. If something seems
scary and sweaty, go there. Don't stop to think. It doesn't even matter
if it makes sense. Whenever you get stuck, just repeat "what I really
mean to say is" and go from there.
Then do a second fifteen-minute writing, either right after the first
or a day or two later. Again, use any topic below and remember that
the "what I really mean to say is" tool is available for your use. Go
for all the crapulence! This second writing, however, you will not be
preparing to read to anyone. Nobody but you will ever see this, unless
you want. Write knowing that it is yours alone.
Some writing topics:
-I knew something was different
-Chocolate chips
-Red
-She took out her measuring tape
-Running
-Home
-My grandmother
Super Size It!
Do a second set of timed writings, this time twenty minutes. Choose
from the topics above (or one from a previous week) or make up your
own. Again, write with abandon, with crapulence. As in the other exercise,
the first writing practice will be one you intend to share with the
rest of the class and the second will be one you do not. Remember, whenever
you get stuck, return to "what I really mean to say is" and go from
there. You can repeat that phrase until the words come to you.
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