The master jazz saxophonist Sonny Rollins described his own practice regimen in a similar way. He’d spend hours going over scales, arpeggios, analyzing what other players did on classic recordings, studying harmony, etc. Then on the bandstand he did his best to let his mind go blank and trust that all that stuff would come out when needed, in interesting combinations. And often he came up with stuff that was totally new, a beautiful alchemy of all these influences combined.
This act of intense study/analysis coupled with a more intuitive approach to creation yields a unique and exciting sense for the listener that they are in on the act of creation. Which in fact they are.
What a great post. I am a great believer in your silo or hopper theory. When I used to be a writer (I don't think of myself as a writer anymore, because there isn't enough writing going on), I lived in a world that I loved so much. The world of words and sentences, and they way they became paragraphs and stories. Everything made me think of writing. All day long, each thing I looked at, every conversation i had (okay, maybe not EVERY conversation, but you get my point), every story I read, all of my daily writing--it was a fantastic way to live, and i could feel the contents of my hopper growing and composting. It was an exciting time, albeit completely inside of my own head. (If you're reading this, you may be wondering what happened, why this came to an end when I loved that world so much, and all I can tell you now is that it happened, for many reasons that one day perhaps I'll write about.) One thing I love about Story Club is that for the first time in a long time, I can feel that little hopper inside my head starting to perk up. I'm reading in a new way than ever before--call it respectfully. Last night, for instance, I read a Mavis Gallant story that in the old days I would have given myself permission to put down. I mean, I wasn't taken with the story. But then I told myself to slow down, listen to the sentences, figure out--as George has shown us--why one sentence follows another. Look for the clues. Oh, wow, it's a great world of words out there. (And I am writing again, albeit just a little bit. But enough that when i go on my old lady brisk walks each day, I'm in my writer's head again, which I think is my home country.)
I have already picked up several tips that are useful in my writing, for example, putting myself in the reader’s shoes at each moment in the story and asking, “What does the reader know so far?” Another example is interest generated by an unreliable narrator.
Wasn’t it Victor Frankl who said there’s great power in a pause. In that moment between reacting and responding we can take time to choose our actions.
Thank you George for inviting us to step back. I was hit between the eyes by your comment that “what makes these times seem crazy is the sense the center is somehow not holding: truth, reason, kindness seem to have been overthrown. But in a story these reign supreme”.
This led me to a couple Story Club thoughts. First Lu Hsun wrote a century ago during Chinas revolution. At a time of massive unravelling, he chose to base his story around the core value of kindness. (Thanks to the person who posted the link to that amazing BBC podcast on his literary stature in China under Mao.)I do wonder if his approach to ‘shame’, and self compassion might not stand the test of time. Brene Brown might encourage a shifting of those parts of the frame.
Secondly - I’ve been trying to figure out why this place, this Story Club, has been so powerful for me now, at this point in time and in my life. As a visual artist in my sixties your principles hold true to my craft as well George, but it’s way more than that. This has been an oasis of insightful and compassionate discussion rooted in curiosity and kindness. This two month connection has helped me realize how powerful stories and community can be to not only help cope with the disillusionment and isolation of this time but to play, learn and grow too. There’s an extra sense of magic here - food for the hungry.
Feb 3, 2022·edited Feb 3, 2022Liked by George Saunders
I do a bit of acting: it’s a similar process. Work hard on technique, on getting each line perfect, where you stand etc etc. Study the text, other actors, whatever it takes. Then let it all go and trust it will come back to you in performance, when you need it.
When i go back to my own work after analysing a story here, it feels a bit clunky at first: I'm super self- conscious of what I'm doing. So, acknowledging that is really helpful. George Saunders - always one step ahead...:)
Mr. Saunders' essay (I always love a pause to look at the map for a minute, if you will, so thank you) makes me think of a tension I sometimes feel. As a writer (okay, a wannabe writer), I love the approach outlined by Mr. Saunders above. I want the full diagnostic package and, if necessary, to know why the writer used every word that he used, where he used it and how. But as a reader, I hate it. I love reading, and it has given me so many magical evenings and insights, and I don't want to know what makes the magic, I just want the magic. It really is an almost transcendent experience for me, in a way writing often isn't. If I am being honest and I only get to choose one activity for the rest of my life, reading or writing, I am choosing reading hands down. This probably means I will always be relegated to a wannabe writer, rather than a real one, and that's okay. But I guess my point is that sometimes it feels like looking under the hood and checking out the wires spoils the magic, just a little bit. And maybe that means I should join Oprah's Story Club instead of Mr. Saunders' Story Club, but I don't want to do that. It is just a tension I feel, that I don't think I ever noticed before until reading Mr. Saunders book (Swim in the Pond, which I adore) and reading the above. Anyway, I thought it was applicable to disclose this during the "pause," if it even makes sense. Love the Story Club and, despite the tension (or maybe because of?), hope it continues for years and years. And apologies for all the trite car metaphors, like I said, wannabe.
As an older person and new writer, I found this post very inspiring. I'm a dedicated reader and feel like I have lots of stuff in my silo (or hopper). But, not only do need to analyze the features of the table I want to make and get into the mind of a master builder, I need to learn to use a saw and a hammer. It's a slow, difficult task and I'm trying to have patience with myself as I learn and not give up. It's helpful to be in this community.
This reminds me of Ira Glass and his thoughts on how we all start with creative work but feel like it's not quite what we want it to be, because those who get into creative work have good taste, so recognise when our output isn't what our ambitions want it to be, but that by working through that, we will eventually close the gap https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=91FQKciKfHI
Yup, Mr. Saunders, as you conclude here, this is why listening to you read 'Pond' out loud in the spring of 2021 on Audible, with loving kindness & appreciation for reason, pulled me out of the darkest period of my life when faced with the combination of TFG, Covid & aging. Can not thank you enough for returning me to my early passion for reading & my previously discarded dream of becoming a writer.
“A story’s too smart for that. It wants a solution organic to itself.” Brilliant.
Also explains why analyzing literature to death in our classrooms as is traditionally done, doesn’t necessarily produce good writers (or eventually even readers when students leave schooling). We have to create space for the awkward discomfort of showing up for (y)our own work. For those of us who are here and we still love reading (regardless of our writing journeys), somehow survived the analysis paralysis (usually one view) in schooling.
To read. To want to understand. To care. To have this love. To have this connection with the words of another and to come away a richer fuller human as a result. To know all these amazing others are reading with me. To see this as an act of kindness and an affirmation of our humanity.
This is a wonderful gift. Your creation of this group with this task and this connection has made these winter days and this life so much fuller.
Thanks, George, for clarifying this. I was wondering how I was going to apply what we’ve learned here during the initial creation of my stories. Now I understand that it’s not to be a rigid set of rules to follow when first putting words on the page. That it should happen intuitively as we write and revise sounds perfectly natural and right.
There've been so many times when reading a really great story that I've thought, "How does he or she do it?" and then immediately realize that I can't ever really know the answer unless I become that person—in other words, I can only write like Lorrie Moore if I am Lorrie Moore. But I have definitely had the experience of being inspired by a technique or turn of phrase in another author's work which suddenly pops up from my subconscious as I write, opening the door to a whole world I might have missed otherwise.
A brilliant young faculty-member at Bennington pooh-poohs one of her first collections of short stories as simply a series of imitations of her favorite writers—she says she examined the templates of favorite stories and applied them to the stories she wanted to tell. The book is quite renowned and won multiple awards, and she won the the 5 Under 35 Award. I believe her stories are hers alone—those other writers simply inspired and enriched them.
So, I love this idea of infusing ourselves with beauty, so that we recognize it when we, ourselves, produce it—and when we don't.
I'm so glad you addressed this issue because this kind of analysis does hang me up when I write. I want to keep all these gems in mind, but it is impossible. However I am growing more trusting of my unconscious. So when you say "you can just forget about it," I know it is not gone. I am just decluttering my conscious mind and letting the air in. My unconscious mind has my back. Thank you!
The master jazz saxophonist Sonny Rollins described his own practice regimen in a similar way. He’d spend hours going over scales, arpeggios, analyzing what other players did on classic recordings, studying harmony, etc. Then on the bandstand he did his best to let his mind go blank and trust that all that stuff would come out when needed, in interesting combinations. And often he came up with stuff that was totally new, a beautiful alchemy of all these influences combined.
This act of intense study/analysis coupled with a more intuitive approach to creation yields a unique and exciting sense for the listener that they are in on the act of creation. Which in fact they are.
What a great post. I am a great believer in your silo or hopper theory. When I used to be a writer (I don't think of myself as a writer anymore, because there isn't enough writing going on), I lived in a world that I loved so much. The world of words and sentences, and they way they became paragraphs and stories. Everything made me think of writing. All day long, each thing I looked at, every conversation i had (okay, maybe not EVERY conversation, but you get my point), every story I read, all of my daily writing--it was a fantastic way to live, and i could feel the contents of my hopper growing and composting. It was an exciting time, albeit completely inside of my own head. (If you're reading this, you may be wondering what happened, why this came to an end when I loved that world so much, and all I can tell you now is that it happened, for many reasons that one day perhaps I'll write about.) One thing I love about Story Club is that for the first time in a long time, I can feel that little hopper inside my head starting to perk up. I'm reading in a new way than ever before--call it respectfully. Last night, for instance, I read a Mavis Gallant story that in the old days I would have given myself permission to put down. I mean, I wasn't taken with the story. But then I told myself to slow down, listen to the sentences, figure out--as George has shown us--why one sentence follows another. Look for the clues. Oh, wow, it's a great world of words out there. (And I am writing again, albeit just a little bit. But enough that when i go on my old lady brisk walks each day, I'm in my writer's head again, which I think is my home country.)
I have already picked up several tips that are useful in my writing, for example, putting myself in the reader’s shoes at each moment in the story and asking, “What does the reader know so far?” Another example is interest generated by an unreliable narrator.
Wasn’t it Victor Frankl who said there’s great power in a pause. In that moment between reacting and responding we can take time to choose our actions.
Thank you George for inviting us to step back. I was hit between the eyes by your comment that “what makes these times seem crazy is the sense the center is somehow not holding: truth, reason, kindness seem to have been overthrown. But in a story these reign supreme”.
This led me to a couple Story Club thoughts. First Lu Hsun wrote a century ago during Chinas revolution. At a time of massive unravelling, he chose to base his story around the core value of kindness. (Thanks to the person who posted the link to that amazing BBC podcast on his literary stature in China under Mao.)I do wonder if his approach to ‘shame’, and self compassion might not stand the test of time. Brene Brown might encourage a shifting of those parts of the frame.
Secondly - I’ve been trying to figure out why this place, this Story Club, has been so powerful for me now, at this point in time and in my life. As a visual artist in my sixties your principles hold true to my craft as well George, but it’s way more than that. This has been an oasis of insightful and compassionate discussion rooted in curiosity and kindness. This two month connection has helped me realize how powerful stories and community can be to not only help cope with the disillusionment and isolation of this time but to play, learn and grow too. There’s an extra sense of magic here - food for the hungry.
I do a bit of acting: it’s a similar process. Work hard on technique, on getting each line perfect, where you stand etc etc. Study the text, other actors, whatever it takes. Then let it all go and trust it will come back to you in performance, when you need it.
When i go back to my own work after analysing a story here, it feels a bit clunky at first: I'm super self- conscious of what I'm doing. So, acknowledging that is really helpful. George Saunders - always one step ahead...:)
Mr. Saunders' essay (I always love a pause to look at the map for a minute, if you will, so thank you) makes me think of a tension I sometimes feel. As a writer (okay, a wannabe writer), I love the approach outlined by Mr. Saunders above. I want the full diagnostic package and, if necessary, to know why the writer used every word that he used, where he used it and how. But as a reader, I hate it. I love reading, and it has given me so many magical evenings and insights, and I don't want to know what makes the magic, I just want the magic. It really is an almost transcendent experience for me, in a way writing often isn't. If I am being honest and I only get to choose one activity for the rest of my life, reading or writing, I am choosing reading hands down. This probably means I will always be relegated to a wannabe writer, rather than a real one, and that's okay. But I guess my point is that sometimes it feels like looking under the hood and checking out the wires spoils the magic, just a little bit. And maybe that means I should join Oprah's Story Club instead of Mr. Saunders' Story Club, but I don't want to do that. It is just a tension I feel, that I don't think I ever noticed before until reading Mr. Saunders book (Swim in the Pond, which I adore) and reading the above. Anyway, I thought it was applicable to disclose this during the "pause," if it even makes sense. Love the Story Club and, despite the tension (or maybe because of?), hope it continues for years and years. And apologies for all the trite car metaphors, like I said, wannabe.
As an older person and new writer, I found this post very inspiring. I'm a dedicated reader and feel like I have lots of stuff in my silo (or hopper). But, not only do need to analyze the features of the table I want to make and get into the mind of a master builder, I need to learn to use a saw and a hammer. It's a slow, difficult task and I'm trying to have patience with myself as I learn and not give up. It's helpful to be in this community.
Writers of the world unite!
Lacerate the myth of genius!
We have nothing to lose but our reins!
This reminds me of Ira Glass and his thoughts on how we all start with creative work but feel like it's not quite what we want it to be, because those who get into creative work have good taste, so recognise when our output isn't what our ambitions want it to be, but that by working through that, we will eventually close the gap https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=91FQKciKfHI
Yup, Mr. Saunders, as you conclude here, this is why listening to you read 'Pond' out loud in the spring of 2021 on Audible, with loving kindness & appreciation for reason, pulled me out of the darkest period of my life when faced with the combination of TFG, Covid & aging. Can not thank you enough for returning me to my early passion for reading & my previously discarded dream of becoming a writer.
“A story’s too smart for that. It wants a solution organic to itself.” Brilliant.
Also explains why analyzing literature to death in our classrooms as is traditionally done, doesn’t necessarily produce good writers (or eventually even readers when students leave schooling). We have to create space for the awkward discomfort of showing up for (y)our own work. For those of us who are here and we still love reading (regardless of our writing journeys), somehow survived the analysis paralysis (usually one view) in schooling.
Thank you very much for this, George Saunders.
Oh George -
This final paragraph fills my heart.
To read. To want to understand. To care. To have this love. To have this connection with the words of another and to come away a richer fuller human as a result. To know all these amazing others are reading with me. To see this as an act of kindness and an affirmation of our humanity.
This is a wonderful gift. Your creation of this group with this task and this connection has made these winter days and this life so much fuller.
Thank you.
Thanks, George, for clarifying this. I was wondering how I was going to apply what we’ve learned here during the initial creation of my stories. Now I understand that it’s not to be a rigid set of rules to follow when first putting words on the page. That it should happen intuitively as we write and revise sounds perfectly natural and right.
There've been so many times when reading a really great story that I've thought, "How does he or she do it?" and then immediately realize that I can't ever really know the answer unless I become that person—in other words, I can only write like Lorrie Moore if I am Lorrie Moore. But I have definitely had the experience of being inspired by a technique or turn of phrase in another author's work which suddenly pops up from my subconscious as I write, opening the door to a whole world I might have missed otherwise.
A brilliant young faculty-member at Bennington pooh-poohs one of her first collections of short stories as simply a series of imitations of her favorite writers—she says she examined the templates of favorite stories and applied them to the stories she wanted to tell. The book is quite renowned and won multiple awards, and she won the the 5 Under 35 Award. I believe her stories are hers alone—those other writers simply inspired and enriched them.
So, I love this idea of infusing ourselves with beauty, so that we recognize it when we, ourselves, produce it—and when we don't.
I'm so glad you addressed this issue because this kind of analysis does hang me up when I write. I want to keep all these gems in mind, but it is impossible. However I am growing more trusting of my unconscious. So when you say "you can just forget about it," I know it is not gone. I am just decluttering my conscious mind and letting the air in. My unconscious mind has my back. Thank you!