The weaving of words
A Post a Day in May 15/31
Dedicated to my writer-friend Coralee, who asked me to write about not writing, aka writer's block.
A writer is someone for whom writing
is more difficult than it is for other people.
Look. Over there in the corner. Do you see it? It’s a pile of clothes, right? Hmmm, no. Look, again. It’s a coat. A coat, for goodness sake! Who would do that? Who would leave a coat lying crumpled in a corner? Well, never mind. I’ll just pick it up, shake it out, and hang it up on that hook over there…that’s better. Let’s see what happens next.
Stay with me.
That coat is more than it seems.
Writing is an act of faith. While an actual deity is optional, what isn’t is the belief that one has something to say — and that one can write about it. Anyone who sits down to write believes (some days it’s more hope than belief) that they have something to say and can find the words to say it.
The joy is when the words tumble out. Well formed into sentences, spilling down the page in rhyme and reason, shaping the piece as if tailor-made.
The struggle is when that something in the corner of the mind is not clear, is fuzzy, is barely within grasp. Those days, the idea is slim, barely a thought, hardly a spark. The work, then, is in making something of it. Of taking it beyond the slender notion, a mere hint of potential, and teasing it out into a bigger something that becomes a story: Fiction. Non-fiction. Long. Short. Regardless, all writing is story-making: a conjuring from idea to shape, with beginning, middle and end.
That pile in the corner? It is just a pile of clothes until a person investigates. Puts out their hand. Pulls out that bright red colour. Holds it up. Shakes it out. Sees it is…a coat! Tries it on. Gives it shape: chic on Person A; wrong, all wrong, on Person B.
In the English language, there are about 170,000 words to play with (per the Oxford English Dictionary), and endless combinations thereof. The wonder of using them to write is that the process begins with a niggle in the back of the mind: I wonder what…? I wonder if…? I wonder how…? Then, Can I spin these thoughts, with words, into story?
Some days, the words become a magnificent tale. Others, a sorry excuse. But still, we writers persist. Wondering and worrying words into story.
No matter how crumpled that pile is over there, in the corner, I will wander over, investigate, pick up, try on, inhabit the possibilities lying in the folds of that red, which becomes a coat when I am bold enough to cinch it round my waist. And wear it. Outside. For the world to see.
———
Land acknowledgement: I respectfully recognize that I live on the original lands of Anishinaabe, Cree, Oji-Cree, Dakota and Dene peoples, and on the homeland of the Métis Nation.
Photo by Nicola Perantoni on Unsplash
What an unexpected surprise! Thank you for the dedication. Today I agree with Thomas Mann, all writers before me with their daring feats of word smithing. As a novice word spinner, I am thrilled to be both your friend and your mentee. thanks so much for all that you do..
ReplyDeleteOhhh, very nice analogy Amanda, beautifully built.
ReplyDeleteToday, as every day, I sat down to it. Some days, I am wearing the most beautiful, fitted coat. Other days, I find myself dressed in a rag. It matters not. Just sit down to it. All that matters is the seduction of keys touched by fingers. The infinite pattern of words to be made. Just sit down to it. If you have to approach it shivering and naked, sit down to it.
ReplyDelete