John Cassavetes spoke passionately of the importance of “innermost thoughts” and to me that has something to do with developing one’s “ear” or one’s “voice.” And he spoke about how much work and discipline—and risk—it takes to find and trust that:
“You have to fight every day to stop censoring yourself. And you never have anyone else to blame when you do. What happens to artists is that it’s not that somebody’s standing in their way, it’s that their own selves are standing in their way. The compromise really isn’t how or what you do, the techniques you use, or even the content, but really the compromise is beginning to feel a lack of confidence in your innermost thoughts. And if you don’t put these innermost thoughts on the screen [or on paper] then you are looking down on not only your audience but the people you work with, and that’s what makes so many people working out there unhappy. These innermost thoughts become less and less a part of you and once you lose them then you don’t have anything else… Say what you are. Not what you would like to be. Not what you have to be. Just say what you are. And what you are is good enough. Most people don't know what they want or feel. And for everyone, myself included, it's very difficult to say what you mean when what you mean is painful. The most difficult thing in the world is to reveal yourself, to express what you have to... As an artist, I feel that we must try many things - but above all, we must dare to fail. You must have the courage to be bad - to be willing to risk everything to really express it all.”
Thank you for sharing this Judith! I agree with every word. I can only add that often I don’t even know what I want to express. I find it out in writing. And the results always surprise me :)
Say what you are. Not what you would like to be. Not what you have to be. Just say what you are. And what you are is good enough. Most people don't know what they want or feel. And for everyone, myself included, it's very difficult to say what you mean when what you mean is painful.
[end quote]
Yes . . . and no. One has to work up enough pressure, kick up enough of a radiation or "invitation," for worthwhile influences to be attracted or interest themselves in one's work. "Just say what you are," and that could, on some days, be a shopping list. (Nothing wrong with that, of course--the "hermit crabs" of Mary G.'s prompt this week.)
Certainly, don't censor oneself, but do work with what you find there (the good, bad, and the other). One should have a safe ecology for this revealing (so place yourself amongst friends, not necessarily those who support and confirm your weaknesses).
Professor Saunders has said, a few times, to "celebrate" what one finds in the P/N meter, the polestar of this week's Office Hours. One thought--an alternative view--is to observe it, as neutrally as possible, and where available to you, work with that polestar, refine it, encourage it into brightness and well-being. (As opposed to, say, turning to the bottle. Not that this person did that, of course. The risk, as you say, is definitely there.)
Have the best polestar you can have, with cultivation, care, a tidiness (amidst the craziness of creativity) and timings.
Sometimes one's best is not good enough--it depends on what one is aiming for, the goal, high (starry), low (dense, heavy), in-between. Yes, dare to fail, with care for oneself and others.
A valuable, brilliant quote, to be adopted or tuned to with care.
My pleasure. Putting my journalism skills to practical use is the one time I feel useful in a family full of medical professionals, accountants, and tech people.
I relate to this. There’s a substacker Kent Peterson (sp?) who uses a typewriter to write a post every day, then snaps a picture of it. Still haven’t gotten a typewriter. Still subject to Googling things.
Another wonderful reinforcement of spirit, sense, the gut, the muse, intuition, trust, whatever we want to call it. Staying connected to ourselves and thereby to others. I love when these discussions are not primarily about technique or technicalities, but are about the animating spirit behind the technique, the magic if I may veer into that La La realm.. Even revision taps into magic. It is a kind of search for the right feel, a testing and polishing. It can sound like a dry exercise and yet is quite creative too. Anyway, thanks so much George, as always.
As I keep learning, I try to hone my instincts regarding what works and what doesn't. When I submit a story to one of my critique groups, there may be a little nagging voice inside me saying that I need to deepen a character. So when my critique group concurs, I think, great, I was right. Other times, my critique partners see something I missed and I use that new knowledge, when I agree with it, to further hone my observations about my writing. I love that writing is a lifelong learning process. And I love that your "ear" has served you so well!
This concept of trusting your writing instincts, yet adding new knowledge along the way, really resonates with me. But I'm also fascinated by the possibility of indulging ourselves in our writing. I see that as a possible avenue for growth as well.
First, (like George!) I’m so glad to have again access to “Secret Mansion”— thank you Olivia Giovetti— I remember reading it and will be so happy to read it again.
For me the great fires came from Mrs. Spires, who, in the 6th grade, had us memorize many long (narrative) poems along with the Preamble to the Constitution and the Bill of Rights. Susan Ellsey in high school who taught us to read slowly, and perhaps most of all, Ed Wilson, who died this year (at 101) who gave me, in college, Blake, Yeats, and Thomas, and in all the years after, many, many hours of conversation, leading me to believe that I had something of value to share.
As for this week’s office hour post, I’m beyond satisfied to have prompted OUR beloved teacher to write this:
“Readers (let’s say) love to see a writer steering by his or her own affections. They love to see a little concentrated, focused, madness.”
I’m headed to a Writer’s Retreat tomorrow and this will be my mantra.
This is great, thanks, George, and have a great time in South Dakota!
I love it that the rhythm question is still playing out. And I posted this rather late to the feed from the question but am reposting it now:
Thank you, @George and thank you ALL for the fabulous big discussion on rhythm! I learned so much from George's response and then got many other layers and dimensions from all of you by reading the comments. I can't think how else or where else anyone could have gotten a more nuanced examination of rhythm in writing. I love all the references and recommendations people added here.
I'm so grateful for this amazing experiment in learning together we are on. I feel like this is education and community (and democracy?) at its best—open, non-hierarchical, and curiosity-driven. (I'm writing this after having spent close to 30 years teaching in higher ed—Story Club is WAY BETTER!)
If only more of our world already operated like this—making room and respecting varied beliefs and points of view. But I'm taking heart that we get to practice it here and can bring this approach to the rest of our lives and spread the SC magic.
In a very real way this, Story Club, is the real thing. In my experience folks posting here - that is in all or any of the threads of conversation that unfold, ignited, on the spark of each of George's posts - are actually far more co-present and collectively committed to being open to following the lead of their curiosity, as to what makes 'story' tick, wherever it leads, than is generally the case in on campus settings. Just my experience of course, and claiming no more for it than just being glad of the opportunity to air and share it.
I;m very glad you chose to repost from your previous comment Angela. Thanks you.
I second the notion that readers love writers who follow their own polestar, whatever it may be. I think that's the best way to explain why I love such a wide variety of work, including work by writers with very different, even opposing, aesthetics.
I like this notion too, but I think it means that teaching writers should be a delicate business, allowing and encouraging them to find their own polestars, rather than pointing them out, recommending one rather than another, second guessing the most appropriate one in each case.
Thanks George for writing about ear(s). What I often do when a write is get to a place where I stop and say ‘oh this is too personal’ or ‘this person would be wounded’ or ‘this is too bizarre (in a truly bad way’ or some other taboo or malicious way. And then I sort of write around it and sometimes it comes out pretty good or at least okay. And while I know that just because I write something doesn’t necessarily mean that anyone will ever read it, I am still reluctant to put the words to paper. And so your words about navigating our own personal polestar was liberating for me.
I've always loved reading. It introduces you to the world if you change subjects every so often. I read at the speed of speech that is comfortable, not yipping along like a Chihuahua.
But writing has been my passion and it has taken me too many years for me satisfy myself.
Now I feel safe enough to throw myself into Substack. I'm very grateful for its creation.
Getting a "Like" on a comment is like a sweet dream from the past.
Now that I'm 78 I feel pressed to get it done before I crosk.
Thank you for inviting me to read your posts and helpful comments. This is a great community.
I have a heard a few coaches say they would take a hard worker over a talented one. And because it's an Olympic year, here's another of those ol' chestnuts, when you have a both a hard worker and a talented one you get Olympians. But that talent thing, that question about is it good enough, my writing, is it ready for prime time ...
Lets indulge ourselves in the fun (do the work), find and follow that polestar. We create something wonderful (ain't even gonna trifle with talent cuz that is something that requires outside measure. Talent, we don't need no stinkin' talent, vamanos). Now, we're on our own in thinking it's wonderful. We're okay being on our own. Are we okay with being on our own? Sometimes. Sometimes maybe you just keep following that polestar because it not only leads you to the creative wonderland, but to a tribe where they enjoy these wonders too!
Maybe you're generating giggles and chuckles that you only ever see, scrawled on the inside of a composition notebook that your will gives explicit instructions to burn as soon as they find the body. Except, those instructions along with the rest of the will are inside the notebook too. So there's that.
Anyway here is one of the best examples of doing art for the sake of it, for the love of what you are creating. If you haven't been to DC and haven't seen this installation of outsider art that was discovered only after the artist's passing, I would highly recommend adding it to your bucket list. No one, I mean no one, knew this guy was making art working around his shifts as a federal building janitor. Amazing stuff and someone who was certainly following his own polestar!
I hate the word 'talent', when it means some esoteric in-built ability to do something. I don't believe that exists as a thing. I know I've got a pretty good ear, and I've only just begun writing seriously, but that's because I love reading and have done ever since I first saw words written, and wanted to be able decode them, even if it was to find out what was on the TV and at what time. I having been reading avidly for 50 years so I've had a lot of practice at thinking about how words fit together, how we can communicate something in a way that will grab and hold the attention of others, and make them feel something, make their brain create images of things we will never see. And now it turns out I'm pretty good at writing too, I have been learning to write better with each book I read.
Maybe the closest thing to talent is imagination, the ability to feel other lives than those we are living, and that is what stories give us. We're all born with this, it's up to us what we do with it.
I think so yes. I have always dabbled with writing, but it was only when I decided to take things a bit more seriously after several health issues and began a creative writing degree course that I realised I have a pretty good ear. (it's amazing how a brush with mortality can push you to get on with life!) The course though has helped me hone this, and think about it more, as I have learned to 'read like a writer'. I actually love the redraft/editing part, it sometimes slows me down as I keep going back to beginning and revising again and again! I also used to be a teacher (science not English!) and maybe that has helped too.
Also, the stories of teachers who left a mark, altering lives forever,… these are priceless. Most of our teachers were heartbroken, exhausted, busy, shuffling down sanitized hallways, eternally dusty, surrounded by cinderblock walls, some (most) of them windowless. My mother was my homeroom teacher (alphabetically determined), and was moving, physically, and speaking, enunciating, nonstop from morning to early evening, August through June. How did humanity conjure up the cinderblock-and-sports (which builds character, and occasionally, on the field, outdoors, imparts chronic traumatic encephalopathy) learning environment?
Yet, there was one, just one teacher, who took time. None of the English teachers, which was kind of a tragedy. One, Mr. M., would close the door, lock clicking, position a wastepaper basket at the center, and have us ‘shoot hoops’—with our assignments. No, it was not quite the Socratic method, although it did spur some inquiry and more than a fair amount of wonder regarding the nature of the universe, if not Mr. M. himself.
The one who took time was the Spanish teacher, a new arrival from Burlington. Mrs. Volkmann, native of Dewitt, who filled the halls with Spanish that, to us, sounded native enough. She pressed me on my Spanish, had me change my name from Concepción to José (knowing nothing, my first class name was associated with Mary rather than Joseph), and, rather inexplicably, taught me and an exchange student from West Germany Russian after hours every week. Russian? Her other, secret language, it turned out.
The paths a life can take, the work of a single caring, selfless person.
You know, I was thinking about the Polestar idea, how it's amorphous and can be undefined, and it reminded me of getting sober and, as they say, 'faking it until I made it.' I used to challenge myself when tempted to drink by saying 'what will happen if you don't drink tonight?', and trusting the answer, 'nothing,' led to all sorts of possibilities, and some actual piling up of days (nothing happened except a sober night, a good sleep, and new, clear thoughts in the morning). In the same way, sitting and writing and being with a story and letting it show you where it's going and asking if you want to come along is trusting that doing a simple action (writing) will lead to ideas, sentences, paragraphs, and maybe revelation.
Loved this. I'm a big rhythm person. I always thought this was because as a teacher, I loved reading stories aloud at 'storytime' at the end of the day, and the sentence/chapter just had to fall 'right'.
But then I met my friend who did a music degree, and when she heard I wrote, she was like, did you play an instrument? And i said yes, the piano. And she told me her theory that most writers she knows are musicians, in some way, and this helps with the rhythm.
I do sometimes find it leads me down the wrong path, though. Or at least, it's important to keep half an eye on whether it's really 'rhythm' or a backdoor for endless editing/perfectionism/avoiding the difficult chapter ahead. Sometimes, I'm reworking that opening chapter paragraph so it will feel 'just right', with this kind of magical thinking, almost rumination, that if I crack it, then everything else will fall into place.
But when I look back at the books I've written, the bits I regret/doubt most, are usually where I know didn't listen to it. Where I over engineered the 'midpoint' or whatever it was, based on some story structure theory. Perhaps because whether it works, or not, I'm just sure it's mine. Or perhaps because I know I 'overrode' what my ear said was right. Those bits feel inserted, dissonant, when I play the books back.
Anyway, as always, thanks so much. I'm always questioning my instincts, and whether they're leading me up the wrong path. This is great food for thought.
John Cassavetes spoke passionately of the importance of “innermost thoughts” and to me that has something to do with developing one’s “ear” or one’s “voice.” And he spoke about how much work and discipline—and risk—it takes to find and trust that:
“You have to fight every day to stop censoring yourself. And you never have anyone else to blame when you do. What happens to artists is that it’s not that somebody’s standing in their way, it’s that their own selves are standing in their way. The compromise really isn’t how or what you do, the techniques you use, or even the content, but really the compromise is beginning to feel a lack of confidence in your innermost thoughts. And if you don’t put these innermost thoughts on the screen [or on paper] then you are looking down on not only your audience but the people you work with, and that’s what makes so many people working out there unhappy. These innermost thoughts become less and less a part of you and once you lose them then you don’t have anything else… Say what you are. Not what you would like to be. Not what you have to be. Just say what you are. And what you are is good enough. Most people don't know what they want or feel. And for everyone, myself included, it's very difficult to say what you mean when what you mean is painful. The most difficult thing in the world is to reveal yourself, to express what you have to... As an artist, I feel that we must try many things - but above all, we must dare to fail. You must have the courage to be bad - to be willing to risk everything to really express it all.”
Thank you for sharing this Judith! I agree with every word. I can only add that often I don’t even know what I want to express. I find it out in writing. And the results always surprise me :)
Yes, that happens to me too, exactly.
What a perfect thing to post here. Thank you.
Thank you, Sea!
[quote]
Say what you are. Not what you would like to be. Not what you have to be. Just say what you are. And what you are is good enough. Most people don't know what they want or feel. And for everyone, myself included, it's very difficult to say what you mean when what you mean is painful.
[end quote]
Yes . . . and no. One has to work up enough pressure, kick up enough of a radiation or "invitation," for worthwhile influences to be attracted or interest themselves in one's work. "Just say what you are," and that could, on some days, be a shopping list. (Nothing wrong with that, of course--the "hermit crabs" of Mary G.'s prompt this week.)
Certainly, don't censor oneself, but do work with what you find there (the good, bad, and the other). One should have a safe ecology for this revealing (so place yourself amongst friends, not necessarily those who support and confirm your weaknesses).
Professor Saunders has said, a few times, to "celebrate" what one finds in the P/N meter, the polestar of this week's Office Hours. One thought--an alternative view--is to observe it, as neutrally as possible, and where available to you, work with that polestar, refine it, encourage it into brightness and well-being. (As opposed to, say, turning to the bottle. Not that this person did that, of course. The risk, as you say, is definitely there.)
Have the best polestar you can have, with cultivation, care, a tidiness (amidst the craziness of creativity) and timings.
Sometimes one's best is not good enough--it depends on what one is aiming for, the goal, high (starry), low (dense, heavy), in-between. Yes, dare to fail, with care for oneself and others.
A valuable, brilliant quote, to be adopted or tuned to with care.
Is this the Secret Mansion you're looking for? https://archive.nytimes.com/www.nytimes.com/interactive/2011/09/18/magazine/18mag-edExperiences.html
Yes! Thank you!
My pleasure. Putting my journalism skills to practical use is the one time I feel useful in a family full of medical professionals, accountants, and tech people.
A love language!
Don’t have to start writing if there’s more research that can be done. 🫠
I relate to this. There’s a substacker Kent Peterson (sp?) who uses a typewriter to write a post every day, then snaps a picture of it. Still haven’t gotten a typewriter. Still subject to Googling things.
Nice work Olivia! I found George at #15 on that archive page....
Oh, this is fantastic, thank you, Olivia, and thank you, George!
Thanks for finding this!
Another wonderful reinforcement of spirit, sense, the gut, the muse, intuition, trust, whatever we want to call it. Staying connected to ourselves and thereby to others. I love when these discussions are not primarily about technique or technicalities, but are about the animating spirit behind the technique, the magic if I may veer into that La La realm.. Even revision taps into magic. It is a kind of search for the right feel, a testing and polishing. It can sound like a dry exercise and yet is quite creative too. Anyway, thanks so much George, as always.
As I keep learning, I try to hone my instincts regarding what works and what doesn't. When I submit a story to one of my critique groups, there may be a little nagging voice inside me saying that I need to deepen a character. So when my critique group concurs, I think, great, I was right. Other times, my critique partners see something I missed and I use that new knowledge, when I agree with it, to further hone my observations about my writing. I love that writing is a lifelong learning process. And I love that your "ear" has served you so well!
This concept of trusting your writing instincts, yet adding new knowledge along the way, really resonates with me. But I'm also fascinated by the possibility of indulging ourselves in our writing. I see that as a possible avenue for growth as well.
First, (like George!) I’m so glad to have again access to “Secret Mansion”— thank you Olivia Giovetti— I remember reading it and will be so happy to read it again.
For me the great fires came from Mrs. Spires, who, in the 6th grade, had us memorize many long (narrative) poems along with the Preamble to the Constitution and the Bill of Rights. Susan Ellsey in high school who taught us to read slowly, and perhaps most of all, Ed Wilson, who died this year (at 101) who gave me, in college, Blake, Yeats, and Thomas, and in all the years after, many, many hours of conversation, leading me to believe that I had something of value to share.
As for this week’s office hour post, I’m beyond satisfied to have prompted OUR beloved teacher to write this:
“Readers (let’s say) love to see a writer steering by his or her own affections. They love to see a little concentrated, focused, madness.”
I’m headed to a Writer’s Retreat tomorrow and this will be my mantra.
Robert Frost: "the ear is the only true writer and the only true reader."
This is great, thanks, George, and have a great time in South Dakota!
I love it that the rhythm question is still playing out. And I posted this rather late to the feed from the question but am reposting it now:
Thank you, @George and thank you ALL for the fabulous big discussion on rhythm! I learned so much from George's response and then got many other layers and dimensions from all of you by reading the comments. I can't think how else or where else anyone could have gotten a more nuanced examination of rhythm in writing. I love all the references and recommendations people added here.
I'm so grateful for this amazing experiment in learning together we are on. I feel like this is education and community (and democracy?) at its best—open, non-hierarchical, and curiosity-driven. (I'm writing this after having spent close to 30 years teaching in higher ed—Story Club is WAY BETTER!)
If only more of our world already operated like this—making room and respecting varied beliefs and points of view. But I'm taking heart that we get to practice it here and can bring this approach to the rest of our lives and spread the SC magic.
THANK YOU, GEORGE, FOR LEADING THE WAY!
In a very real way this, Story Club, is the real thing. In my experience folks posting here - that is in all or any of the threads of conversation that unfold, ignited, on the spark of each of George's posts - are actually far more co-present and collectively committed to being open to following the lead of their curiosity, as to what makes 'story' tick, wherever it leads, than is generally the case in on campus settings. Just my experience of course, and claiming no more for it than just being glad of the opportunity to air and share it.
I;m very glad you chose to repost from your previous comment Angela. Thanks you.
Aw shucks, thank you, Rob!
I second the notion that readers love writers who follow their own polestar, whatever it may be. I think that's the best way to explain why I love such a wide variety of work, including work by writers with very different, even opposing, aesthetics.
I like this notion too, but I think it means that teaching writers should be a delicate business, allowing and encouraging them to find their own polestars, rather than pointing them out, recommending one rather than another, second guessing the most appropriate one in each case.
Thanks George for writing about ear(s). What I often do when a write is get to a place where I stop and say ‘oh this is too personal’ or ‘this person would be wounded’ or ‘this is too bizarre (in a truly bad way’ or some other taboo or malicious way. And then I sort of write around it and sometimes it comes out pretty good or at least okay. And while I know that just because I write something doesn’t necessarily mean that anyone will ever read it, I am still reluctant to put the words to paper. And so your words about navigating our own personal polestar was liberating for me.
As other folks have mentioned, congratulations to George for his 3 placements in the top 100 books of the century so far. Here's the whole list. https://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2024/books/best-books-21st-century.html?unlocked_article_code=1.6k0.keUW.0LVhqy31N8zc&smid=url-share
Thanks for the link, Kevin.
I've always loved reading. It introduces you to the world if you change subjects every so often. I read at the speed of speech that is comfortable, not yipping along like a Chihuahua.
But writing has been my passion and it has taken me too many years for me satisfy myself.
Now I feel safe enough to throw myself into Substack. I'm very grateful for its creation.
Getting a "Like" on a comment is like a sweet dream from the past.
Now that I'm 78 I feel pressed to get it done before I crosk.
Thank you for inviting me to read your posts and helpful comments. This is a great community.
Oh, that issue of talent!
I have a heard a few coaches say they would take a hard worker over a talented one. And because it's an Olympic year, here's another of those ol' chestnuts, when you have a both a hard worker and a talented one you get Olympians. But that talent thing, that question about is it good enough, my writing, is it ready for prime time ...
Lets indulge ourselves in the fun (do the work), find and follow that polestar. We create something wonderful (ain't even gonna trifle with talent cuz that is something that requires outside measure. Talent, we don't need no stinkin' talent, vamanos). Now, we're on our own in thinking it's wonderful. We're okay being on our own. Are we okay with being on our own? Sometimes. Sometimes maybe you just keep following that polestar because it not only leads you to the creative wonderland, but to a tribe where they enjoy these wonders too!
Maybe you're generating giggles and chuckles that you only ever see, scrawled on the inside of a composition notebook that your will gives explicit instructions to burn as soon as they find the body. Except, those instructions along with the rest of the will are inside the notebook too. So there's that.
Anyway here is one of the best examples of doing art for the sake of it, for the love of what you are creating. If you haven't been to DC and haven't seen this installation of outsider art that was discovered only after the artist's passing, I would highly recommend adding it to your bucket list. No one, I mean no one, knew this guy was making art working around his shifts as a federal building janitor. Amazing stuff and someone who was certainly following his own polestar!
https://americanart.si.edu/artwork/throne-third-heaven-nations-millennium-general-assembly-9897
I hate the word 'talent', when it means some esoteric in-built ability to do something. I don't believe that exists as a thing. I know I've got a pretty good ear, and I've only just begun writing seriously, but that's because I love reading and have done ever since I first saw words written, and wanted to be able decode them, even if it was to find out what was on the TV and at what time. I having been reading avidly for 50 years so I've had a lot of practice at thinking about how words fit together, how we can communicate something in a way that will grab and hold the attention of others, and make them feel something, make their brain create images of things we will never see. And now it turns out I'm pretty good at writing too, I have been learning to write better with each book I read.
Maybe the closest thing to talent is imagination, the ability to feel other lives than those we are living, and that is what stories give us. We're all born with this, it's up to us what we do with it.
Do you think your reading trained your ear?
I think so yes. I have always dabbled with writing, but it was only when I decided to take things a bit more seriously after several health issues and began a creative writing degree course that I realised I have a pretty good ear. (it's amazing how a brush with mortality can push you to get on with life!) The course though has helped me hone this, and think about it more, as I have learned to 'read like a writer'. I actually love the redraft/editing part, it sometimes slows me down as I keep going back to beginning and revising again and again! I also used to be a teacher (science not English!) and maybe that has helped too.
Also, the stories of teachers who left a mark, altering lives forever,… these are priceless. Most of our teachers were heartbroken, exhausted, busy, shuffling down sanitized hallways, eternally dusty, surrounded by cinderblock walls, some (most) of them windowless. My mother was my homeroom teacher (alphabetically determined), and was moving, physically, and speaking, enunciating, nonstop from morning to early evening, August through June. How did humanity conjure up the cinderblock-and-sports (which builds character, and occasionally, on the field, outdoors, imparts chronic traumatic encephalopathy) learning environment?
Yet, there was one, just one teacher, who took time. None of the English teachers, which was kind of a tragedy. One, Mr. M., would close the door, lock clicking, position a wastepaper basket at the center, and have us ‘shoot hoops’—with our assignments. No, it was not quite the Socratic method, although it did spur some inquiry and more than a fair amount of wonder regarding the nature of the universe, if not Mr. M. himself.
The one who took time was the Spanish teacher, a new arrival from Burlington. Mrs. Volkmann, native of Dewitt, who filled the halls with Spanish that, to us, sounded native enough. She pressed me on my Spanish, had me change my name from Concepción to José (knowing nothing, my first class name was associated with Mary rather than Joseph), and, rather inexplicably, taught me and an exchange student from West Germany Russian after hours every week. Russian? Her other, secret language, it turned out.
The paths a life can take, the work of a single caring, selfless person.
For me, it was my grade school liberian, Miss Hosean.
可惜啊，读万卷书，不如行万里路，行万里路，不如阅人无数，阅人无数不如随心所欲、
跟隨自己的內心才是人生的關鍵。還讀書。
殊勝智慧
早安，約翰！
願千花綻放!
砍柴、挑水、喝咖啡
What a worker! You leave me speechless!
You know, I was thinking about the Polestar idea, how it's amorphous and can be undefined, and it reminded me of getting sober and, as they say, 'faking it until I made it.' I used to challenge myself when tempted to drink by saying 'what will happen if you don't drink tonight?', and trusting the answer, 'nothing,' led to all sorts of possibilities, and some actual piling up of days (nothing happened except a sober night, a good sleep, and new, clear thoughts in the morning). In the same way, sitting and writing and being with a story and letting it show you where it's going and asking if you want to come along is trusting that doing a simple action (writing) will lead to ideas, sentences, paragraphs, and maybe revelation.
Loved this. I'm a big rhythm person. I always thought this was because as a teacher, I loved reading stories aloud at 'storytime' at the end of the day, and the sentence/chapter just had to fall 'right'.
But then I met my friend who did a music degree, and when she heard I wrote, she was like, did you play an instrument? And i said yes, the piano. And she told me her theory that most writers she knows are musicians, in some way, and this helps with the rhythm.
I do sometimes find it leads me down the wrong path, though. Or at least, it's important to keep half an eye on whether it's really 'rhythm' or a backdoor for endless editing/perfectionism/avoiding the difficult chapter ahead. Sometimes, I'm reworking that opening chapter paragraph so it will feel 'just right', with this kind of magical thinking, almost rumination, that if I crack it, then everything else will fall into place.
But when I look back at the books I've written, the bits I regret/doubt most, are usually where I know didn't listen to it. Where I over engineered the 'midpoint' or whatever it was, based on some story structure theory. Perhaps because whether it works, or not, I'm just sure it's mine. Or perhaps because I know I 'overrode' what my ear said was right. Those bits feel inserted, dissonant, when I play the books back.
Anyway, as always, thanks so much. I'm always questioning my instincts, and whether they're leading me up the wrong path. This is great food for thought.