I spent most of today rolling around a concept for a blog that was somewhat (very) introspective and self-indulgent... and then I stepped into the wonderful world of the internet and promptly changed my mind.
A long time ago, I had a discussion-bordering-heated argument with a former collaborator on the topic of authenticity in relation to writing. He claimed, first, that to be a good writer you have to experience life. Fair enough. If nothing else, getting out in the world and seeing what happens in it is pretty good at triggering those what if questions. He went on from there, though, and asserted that writing could only be worthwhile if it was authentic, meaning if the person writing had actual first-hand experience of the thing s/he was writing on. His assertion was that authenticity always trumped talent, and the only way a writer could evoke the proper response, could convey something accurately enough, was if it had actually happened to them.
I respectfully and quite adamantly disagreed.
Much of my time is spent reading, critiquing and, yes, judging the work of amateur writers. There's quite a lot of talent in the amateur sect; what I'm about to say is by no means to imply there isn't.
But.
Yes, but. Among that wide and motley assortment of individuals penning their works between jobs and classes and families, and maybe even at the occasional stoplight, there is a particular strand that latches onto this idea of writing the authentic experience (we're talking fiction here, by the way, non-fiction is a different kettle of fish entirely). Most of the time, this centres around emotion in an equation that looks something like this:
poets writers, and that very troublesome stock phrase "write what you know".
One person cited, in support of the pro argument, the sheer volume of love poetry written (so much so, in my opinion, that finding a love poem these days that doesn't make you want to slit your wrists with a Hallmark card is a bit like waking up to a unicorn in your living room), because it's a universal experience (I'm paraphrasing). The same person went on to say: "Why is there so much "emo" poetry written? Because it is an intense feeling that is felt so completely that it is easy to describe in words." Someone else claimed that one could truly write about the feeling of grief without experiencing it first; anything else is just speculation.
Oddly no one mentioned how the experience of losing a thumb or an ear really boosted their creative output.
A long time ago, I had a discussion-bordering-heated argument with a former collaborator on the topic of authenticity in relation to writing. He claimed, first, that to be a good writer you have to experience life. Fair enough. If nothing else, getting out in the world and seeing what happens in it is pretty good at triggering those what if questions. He went on from there, though, and asserted that writing could only be worthwhile if it was authentic, meaning if the person writing had actual first-hand experience of the thing s/he was writing on. His assertion was that authenticity always trumped talent, and the only way a writer could evoke the proper response, could convey something accurately enough, was if it had actually happened to them.
I respectfully and quite adamantly disagreed.
Much of my time is spent reading, critiquing and, yes, judging the work of amateur writers. There's quite a lot of talent in the amateur sect; what I'm about to say is by no means to imply there isn't.
But.
Yes, but. Among that wide and motley assortment of individuals penning their works between jobs and classes and families, and maybe even at the occasional stoplight, there is a particular strand that latches onto this idea of writing the authentic experience (we're talking fiction here, by the way, non-fiction is a different kettle of fish entirely). Most of the time, this centres around emotion in an equation that looks something like this:
words + strong emotion = talent/something worth reading
No. Sorry. It does not. Your angst is not art. The ability to experience emotion does not make you an artist; it makes you human. The ability to evoke emotion in someone else with something you create makes you an artist.
Most of the time, when it comes to this subject, I keep my mouth shut. Surprisingly, on occasion, apparently I come across as not quite so soft and fluffy, or very coddling of sensitive egos. I'll openly admit I don't have much patience for baby writers, and I'm more likely to say please never write anything but a grocery list again than sugarcoat the garish flaws with noncommittal statements. So, being aware of this aspect in myself, I stay well away from the "emotional" writers. They tend to be sensitive and, well, emotional. I don't take them seriously as writers because they don't take their writing seriously.
This evening in my traipsing about the internet as my "reward" for being so very studious all weekend (this is what I'm going with; I dare you to prove otherwise), I came across this question:
Disappointingly, but expectedly, the yeses had the vote. This pretty much epitomises the issue I have with "authentic" writing, "emotional"Does a person's creativity go hand in hand with emotional, mental, or physical turmoil?
One person cited, in support of the pro argument, the sheer volume of love poetry written (so much so, in my opinion, that finding a love poem these days that doesn't make you want to slit your wrists with a Hallmark card is a bit like waking up to a unicorn in your living room), because it's a universal experience (I'm paraphrasing). The same person went on to say: "Why is there so much "emo" poetry written? Because it is an intense feeling that is felt so completely that it is easy to describe in words." Someone else claimed that one could truly write about the feeling of grief without experiencing it first; anything else is just speculation.
Oddly no one mentioned how the experience of losing a thumb or an ear really boosted their creative output.
I'd critique your distinction of such "angsty" work as synonymous with all "emotional" writing - mostly 'cuz all of my own work is so deeply founded in emotion - except you clearly mean "over-emotional." And THAT I can totally get behind.
ReplyDeleteAlso,
This: "please never write anything but a grocery list again"
and this: " Oddly no one mentioned how the experience of losing a thumb or an ear really boosted their creative output."
I've been having this problem as well, recently. I saw that poll on dA. I promise you I was NOT on the "yes" side. Some of my poems that others have considered to be most effective and emotional are about fictional characters I have created (for example, "Thunderstorm Physics" is all about someone grieving their father - my father, thankfully, is alive and well), and some of my most deeply personal and emotional pieces (like that one recent one you saw) sort of just don't work at all.
I also feel like people need to be reminded of actors: do you think Colin Firth knows what it's like to be king of England or have a stutter? No, but he BLOODY WELL FIGURED IT OUT. (The King's Speech is kind of one of my fave films of all time ^^)
i suspect the wallowing-in-emotion stage of creating is perhaps the site of inspiration, but leaves the writing at the stage where the potter has thrown the clay on the wheel. this phase has the greatest surge of feeling & thus has the greatest satisfaction for the writer.
ReplyDeletebut writing as art is a communication between the writer & the audience. anything else is self indulgent. most writing is re-writing, developing the technical skill. part of a writer's technical skill is writing about what she hasn't yet or perhaps will ever experience. to stop oneself before reaching that point, is to be afraid of artistic risk. art is all about risk, not so much about self indulgence.