Bad writing things, good writing things
Apr. 25th, 2008 02:32 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dampscribblerA Bad Thing has happened in my writing life, and it's taken me a long time to come to terms with it. Since 2000, I've been a part of an amazing Monday morning writing group, where several of us get together to practice writing on a suggested topic, or whatever we wish, and then share our writing.
But a Good Thing has happened, now. I've gone on too long to go into it at the moment, but I have a New Place to write, and I've decided, for the moment, to take leave of my group and write here and see what happens. I'm in the New Place now. And look, at the very least, I've written what just might be my longest ever LJ post. More on the New Place in a few days. The words have begun again. That feels good.
For years the group did a pretty good job of respecting an unspoken boundary, treating the room almost as if it were the site of a 12-step meeting. It is not a critique group, the only feedback we provide on each others' work is in the form of "recall," which means that when a writer is reading aloud, we listen. If a phrase, idea, or piece of language strikes us as interesting in some way, we repeat it as precisely as possible (you'd be surprised how difficult that can be) during recall, immediately after that writer has read. It's a very powerful tool, allowing a writer some insight into what gets a reader/listener's attention without the added baggage of *what exactly* that person's response was. We want our words to be powerful. We don't always get to know in what way they are powerful. As long as there have been writers, there has been the necessary separation of writer and reader. (Storytelling, while similar, is a different beast. Storyteller
and listener are in an active, exchange-based relationship with one another, and the storytelling changes in response to the listener's response. A great storyteller "reads" his audience and responds with subtle changes to his delivery, expressions, gestures, and even language. The writer, in contrast, has only language to deliver her message, and she must decide which language will communicate her ideas and images while simultaneously provoking in her reader a personal response, that is, a response that is more or less unique to that reader, in order to establish a sense of intimacy between two parties separated by space and, most likely, time.)
The Bad Thing that happened was that, eventually, a person with a lot of pain, a lot of need, a lot of issues, and very poor boundaries joined our group. Some of her issues were similar to issues of my own (and, in all
honesty, I must admit that I have at times had similar problems -- in particular poor boundaries and lots of need). She could not or would not limit her responses to mere recall, but constantly commented on what I wrote in very specific and intimate terms, not as one writer to another, but as one hurting person to another. Now, this is great for a group therapy session, but not so good for writing practice. I tried to communicate to
her that I wasn't entirely comfortable with this, and whenever I introduced a new person to the group, made a point of clearly stating the "we respond with recall" rule. But she didn't get it. And after each meeting was
done, she corralled me for discussion about her personal situation, my personal situation, and made clear by her comments that she assumed she understood intimately what I was experiencing. I, with my poor boundaries, and passionate desire to both connect with this person and make myself known
to her, kept trying to clarify, both in conversation and my writing, what was truly going on. Unfortunately, she already had me confined to a box of her making (and, I believe, has herself confined to a box, as well, but
that's not my call).
Ultimately, what suffered most was my writing. In attempting to engage honestly, my writing became dishonest. See, that's another difference between the storyteller and the writer. The storyteller is telling a story
that already exists from beginning to end. Any changes that are being made for the audience alter the telling, but not the story, in its most reductive definition of "beginning, middle, end." But when a writer sits down to
write, she doesn't always know the story. In my case, if I know the whole story, I'm probably not interested in writing it down. The discovery is such a huge part of the fun. So my writing became a response to one person. The discovery was gone, the playfulness was gone, and I wasn't working on
stories or scenes or explorations. Instead, I just journaled my complaints and concerns and re-hashed them again and again, and in so doing continuously engaged and re-engaged this person in my private life.
See how I'm trying to take responsibility here? I do feel responsible, for my writing, my leadership or lack of, my interactions with the offender. I was the de-facto leader of the group, and I let the group down. Although
possibly myself the most.
I've been reluctant for the past several months to commit to the group again, and I rarely make it in. I've only just realized that while I do want to go back, I don't trust my writing, tenuous as it is right now, to get me through this unwanted relationship.
and listener are in an active, exchange-based relationship with one another, and the storytelling changes in response to the listener's response. A great storyteller "reads" his audience and responds with subtle changes to his delivery, expressions, gestures, and even language. The writer, in contrast, has only language to deliver her message, and she must decide which language will communicate her ideas and images while simultaneously provoking in her reader a personal response, that is, a response that is more or less unique to that reader, in order to establish a sense of intimacy between two parties separated by space and, most likely, time.)
The Bad Thing that happened was that, eventually, a person with a lot of pain, a lot of need, a lot of issues, and very poor boundaries joined our group. Some of her issues were similar to issues of my own (and, in all
honesty, I must admit that I have at times had similar problems -- in particular poor boundaries and lots of need). She could not or would not limit her responses to mere recall, but constantly commented on what I wrote in very specific and intimate terms, not as one writer to another, but as one hurting person to another. Now, this is great for a group therapy session, but not so good for writing practice. I tried to communicate to
her that I wasn't entirely comfortable with this, and whenever I introduced a new person to the group, made a point of clearly stating the "we respond with recall" rule. But she didn't get it. And after each meeting was
done, she corralled me for discussion about her personal situation, my personal situation, and made clear by her comments that she assumed she understood intimately what I was experiencing. I, with my poor boundaries, and passionate desire to both connect with this person and make myself known
to her, kept trying to clarify, both in conversation and my writing, what was truly going on. Unfortunately, she already had me confined to a box of her making (and, I believe, has herself confined to a box, as well, but
that's not my call).
Ultimately, what suffered most was my writing. In attempting to engage honestly, my writing became dishonest. See, that's another difference between the storyteller and the writer. The storyteller is telling a story
that already exists from beginning to end. Any changes that are being made for the audience alter the telling, but not the story, in its most reductive definition of "beginning, middle, end." But when a writer sits down to
write, she doesn't always know the story. In my case, if I know the whole story, I'm probably not interested in writing it down. The discovery is such a huge part of the fun. So my writing became a response to one person. The discovery was gone, the playfulness was gone, and I wasn't working on
stories or scenes or explorations. Instead, I just journaled my complaints and concerns and re-hashed them again and again, and in so doing continuously engaged and re-engaged this person in my private life.
See how I'm trying to take responsibility here? I do feel responsible, for my writing, my leadership or lack of, my interactions with the offender. I was the de-facto leader of the group, and I let the group down. Although
possibly myself the most.
I've been reluctant for the past several months to commit to the group again, and I rarely make it in. I've only just realized that while I do want to go back, I don't trust my writing, tenuous as it is right now, to get me through this unwanted relationship.
But a Good Thing has happened, now. I've gone on too long to go into it at the moment, but I have a New Place to write, and I've decided, for the moment, to take leave of my group and write here and see what happens. I'm in the New Place now. And look, at the very least, I've written what just might be my longest ever LJ post. More on the New Place in a few days. The words have begun again. That feels good.
