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[beware of the undertow]
i reread sunday's pages and was amused by how self-amusing they are. when i step out of my way with my work, it's very interesting how well i entertain myself (if nobody else). but for me that has nothing to do with actually creating something. it's just spinning a top and watching the colors twirl. i think this is what i've had a hard time articulating to people about writing and my relationship with it.
sure, writing to me is like breathing: it's natural, necessary, and automatic. but there's nothing inherently creative about breathing unless you're God ~ then Ruah, your breath, your spirit, gives life. but that's a conscious act, not an automatic one. and so, creativity being an act of identification with our Creator, creative writing must also be as conscious, as deliberate, as purposeful and life-giving as that (cue dramatic sinking feeling: could it get more loaded?)
my deliberate writing is like a bubble in a barometer ~ always trapped, suspended between two poles and at the mercy of the weather's whims. i want it to be both an endless feast and a bite-sized morsel, epic and haiku, boldstroked and pontilist. i want it to be five- or six-dimensional (that's not asking too much now, is it?)
i don't think writing should balance like a weather bubble, it should challenge the creator and the audience. and the challenge is not to maintain balance, it's to deliberately lose balance without falling (this is the basic premise of all dance ~ and all faith by the way).
oh, just write, people say. stop hanging so much baggage on it.
oh, just breathe.
is that really sufficient? to just breathe? and then when you come to the end of it all, to say: well, i breathed and it was enough?
in many ways the answer can be yes.
in many ways the answer has to be no.
i reread sunday's pages and was amused by how self-amusing they are. when i step out of my way with my work, it's very interesting how well i entertain myself (if nobody else). but for me that has nothing to do with actually creating something. it's just spinning a top and watching the colors twirl. i think this is what i've had a hard time articulating to people about writing and my relationship with it.
sure, writing to me is like breathing: it's natural, necessary, and automatic. but there's nothing inherently creative about breathing unless you're God ~ then Ruah, your breath, your spirit, gives life. but that's a conscious act, not an automatic one. and so, creativity being an act of identification with our Creator, creative writing must also be as conscious, as deliberate, as purposeful and life-giving as that (cue dramatic sinking feeling: could it get more loaded?)
my deliberate writing is like a bubble in a barometer ~ always trapped, suspended between two poles and at the mercy of the weather's whims. i want it to be both an endless feast and a bite-sized morsel, epic and haiku, boldstroked and pontilist. i want it to be five- or six-dimensional (that's not asking too much now, is it?)
i don't think writing should balance like a weather bubble, it should challenge the creator and the audience. and the challenge is not to maintain balance, it's to deliberately lose balance without falling (this is the basic premise of all dance ~ and all faith by the way).
oh, just write, people say. stop hanging so much baggage on it.
oh, just breathe.
is that really sufficient? to just breathe? and then when you come to the end of it all, to say: well, i breathed and it was enough?
in many ways the answer can be yes.
in many ways the answer has to be no.
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