Equipping Writers for Success
The Writing Life
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by Sheila Bender
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If writers walk around with a head full of ideas and think they have to commit to writing them, they miss the hypothesis part of the process, the part about finding something of interest to test. In other words, the essay is an exploration, not an initial knowing. Because of this, I use exercises for finding topics that model not knowing as a way of beginning essays.
After providing directions for a series of three freewrites, I will show you how to mine a collection of such material for writing an essay.
Go to a place you have not previously used for writing. It can be the corner of a room or a chair facing a different window than you usually face; you might sit at a cafˇ or park bench new to you. Even sitting in your car will work if you park somewhere other than your habitual spot. Just getting out of the driver's seat and sitting in the passenger seat can make a parking spot new for the purposes of this freewrite.
Begin your freewriting by describing where you are and what you see there. You can add in what you think you will be able to see in the near future. Then involve your other senses to stay "in scene" and really deliver the experience of the place you are describing. A sound or sight, smell or texture, or even the taste of something you are eating or have waiting for you for lunch will offer new experiences and associations. Stay specific.
Don't be cursory. Don't write, "Here I am again writing before I go into work and there are cars as usual and I am tired as usual."
Instead, stay in the moment and record details from where you are:
After writing from where you are, imagine yourself inside a place you can't really write from, the pantry in your kitchen, a drawer, or perhaps a window box:
Now, open something in print and let your eye fall somewhere on the page. Use the words your eye falls upon as an opening for this next exercise. When I last did this exercise, I randomly opened William Kittredge's collection of essays, "Who Owns the West?" to page 67 and pointed to these words:
Knowing this passage was about mourning for the late short story writer Raymond Carver, whose stories I had recently taught to an intro to fiction class, I wrote:
There are clothes at the cleaners waiting to be picked up, food to be found at the market, a resume to update and send out, and evening plans that require I bring a dish for the meal. I have a set of papers to grade and more e-mail than I want to answer at the moment waiting on the spool. The cats are out of food and I have forgotten to cut their nails this month so they are sharp and leave scratches when they launch from my lap after a moth or a fly. The outdoor plants need watering, on all three levels of my home. The jasmine is in bloom. I should fertilize. Measure, mix, fill the jug, lift the heavy thing and hear the water rush into the pots. Too much overflow in the dishes beneath the plants. Must empty that. They don't like to get their feet wet, my horticultural friend reminded me. No blooms on the bougainvillea, perhaps over-watering. Container gardening -- there are rewards but the plants suffer if I am not attentive -- cold roots, wet roots, underfed, overfed. White fly, aphids. Bites out of leaves from something else I haven't seen. Somehow, the plants survive. Like me!
Mining the Three Freewrites
Whether you have done these freewrites in the course of one writing session or over several days, to find out what the freewrites have to tell you about an essay you might write, comb through them and jot down images and phrases that interest you.
When I look over what I have written, I am grabbed by: "overwhelmed", "dangerously close to the white line", "shoulder- to-shoulder", "heavenly bamboo", "thorned bougainvillea", "the plants survive" and "like me". I don't know why exactly, but these words and phrases jump out. Next, I'll challenge myself to write a paragraph that involves them all:
It is perhaps not a surprise that distinguishing the plants coincided with making good friends and finding good work; that lonely, I saw only roads and cars and masses of people, and now more connected, I see flowers and trees, the way the people of LA cultivate what grows in this watered desert. I struggle with my own container garden. Against pests and fog, my diverse plants survive. As I water them and watch people of diverse ethnic groups and cultural backgrounds drive and walk by my balcony, I realize I have come once again to value the American melting pot spirit that is alive and thriving in this city of angels and progress. I have let the American Dream touch me once again.
From here, I could shape an essay that evokes the newly awakened American dream inside me. I see that I might be talking about a process of growing numb to the dream for awhile before it reawakens in me. I could talk about becoming jaded while coming of age in the '60s when the country was engaged in an unpopular war, and then again when raising children in the '70s and '80s and trying to teach environmentalism during a time of abundance and spoils. Now, watching and listening to people from all over the world raising families and seeking education, I am revived. I believe that I could write this view of Los Angeles and of myself at this point in my life.
Opening ourselves as writers to a state of not knowing exactly what will happen on our pages allows us to invite topics for interesting exploration. When we are in this not-knowing state of being, words come through and we start to figure out the terms of our explorations. Teasing topics to the page in this way reminds us that every essay is written in response to the question, "What do I really know?" Finding out how we can put experience together into new knowing, we are on a treasure hunt; we search our way out of the not knowing. This is the spirit that makes our writing come alive.
This article may not be reprinted without the author's written permission.
Sheila Bender is a poet, essayist, author, and publisher of http://www.WritingItReal.com. Her poems appear in many North American literary journals and anthologies such as Poetry Northwest, The Seattle Review, Writers' Forum, Northern Lights, and We Used to Be Wives, among others. Her many books on writing include Keeping a Journal You Love, A Year in the Life: Journaling for Self-Discovery, Writing Personal Poetry: Creating Poems from Life Experience, Writing Personal Essays: How to Shape Your Life Experiences for the Page, and Writing in a New Convertible with the Top Down. She is a past contributing poetry editor to Writer's Digest Magazine and is on the faculties of the Colorado Mountain Writer's Conference and the La Jolla Writer's Conference. She holds a Masters of Arts in Creative Writing from the University of Washington and a Masters of Arts in Teaching from Keane College in New Jersey.