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I've been thinking and wondering a lot lately about inspiration and writing. Part of it is wondering where it comes from for me, and why. In the Literary Criticism class I'm taking, the professor is asking us to write a "critical manifesto" at the end, where we explore in a paper our own critical len or lenses that we use...this can be how we would teach a work, how we write, or even just what we pay attention to when we read. I think it will be a fascinating exercise, and since I'm not quite halfway through the course there are still many approaches I haven't explored. Since this professor has encouraged creative responses and examination of our own creative writing if we're so inclined, it has me thinking about how I write and what I write, and what I pay attention to when I'm telling a story.

I know very deeply that taking all these English classes has immeasurably affected my writing and how I think about craft and storytelling. Identifying the critical lenses people use to study literature (or any creative text...we've discussed TV, film, photography, lyrics, and pop music!) has only brought more forcibly home the close attention and vision toward literature that I've gained through many of my classes and professors. I'm not sure I spent much time contemplating the reliability of the narrator or what the author means by writing in an intrusive or unstable marrative voice. Ditto that I never looked this hard for the symbolism in a pine tree (I'm thinking of Jewett's remarkable "A White Heron"), or how the arrangment of a novel shaped or commented on its meaning (pretty applicable to many, but I'm thinking specifically of a small paper I did on Sherwood Anderson's Winesburg, Ohio, which was divided into chapters in order to tell each townsperson's particular tale, with one character running through them all. It enforced the sense of their unique isolation.) I never heard someone break down Cinderella's slipper to me so down and dirty, or so delightfully, before studying fairytales with a professor here, and I didn't pin down and articulate the relationship between Jane Eyre's subconscious and that "madwoman in the attic" before Victorian Lit. I had never made a connection between works like Island of Dr. Moreau, Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, and the appearance of that same madwoman, Bertha Mason, in Jane Eyre to unease over colonialism and its effects or the new scientific and decidedly religion-questioning Victorian conscious. I hadn't fallen in love with magical realism, because I hadn't found the things that were delivered into my greedy and grateful hands. I've just been reading, with delight and fascination and utter excitement, short stories by Kate Chopin (*love* her) and Faulkner, and I don't think I'll ever approach writing prose as I did before that experience. All of this, all this new awareness and consciousness of craft as I hadn't experienced it before, has contributed so very much to how I want to write. I am more mindful of everything about telling a story.

And I am more frustrated. I am more uncertain in a lot of ways. You know, I am actually a very lazy writer. I love words, and I love to find the metaphor that rips the heart open where it has scabbed and then pours a balm over top, or the one that ripples across the mind like a belly laugh or hits you over the head and catches your breath in your throat. That's why I mostly write poetry. Sure, these days I'm busy with papers and course work, and poetry allows for this, but it's also a laziness. I'm not downplaying the craft of poetry in the slightest, or poetry itself because I truly believe very deeply in the medium, but the poems I write are pure feeling, not structure and hard work. Yet I want very badly to write short stories and I want very much to write a novel. I have found it much harder than I thought it would be, though.

And maybe that's where I'm heading with a topic like inspiration. For me, a poem is an inspiration...and by that I mean it is the fruit of an inspiration I had, very much like I happened to be standing in a certain place and a star fell into my hands, like my icon. It never feels like work, or even something I squeezed out of my head. If I'm struggling with a poem, I let it lie, and someday I get hit with it, and there it is. Even looking back on it, and cringing at it and being unhappy with my own fashioning of it, the core is still there, still powerful in a way I just didn't do justice to...and it still doesn't feel like mine. I've written short stories that feel that way. But a novel feels hard right now. It wll take more craft and work than I'm used to. Sometimes I wonder if I have it in me at all. More often I wonder how to crack it, feeling like breaking through that first time will open the gates and I'll be ready. I think waiting for a feeling of inspiration is a dead end road. Writing should be made a habit, and it should be something I do even when what comes out is crap. I know that when I took a writing class and was "forced" to produce, I produced. There is something to this. How can I harness that again?

But beyond that...where do you take inspiration for your writing? What moves you to try a new form or experiment with craft? I know I find a lot of this sort of thing from other literature, which I'm sure is run of the mill. Right now I'm trying to write a long poem patterned on and exploiting the basic common structures of epics. I think writers must draw it from everywhere...I read an interview where Gregory Maguire said he was inspired to write Wicked when two incidents met in his mind; the characterisation of Sadam Hussein by the media prior to the first Gulf War and that news story of the two young people murdering the toddler near where he was living at the time. He said he realized how ready and willing he was to make inferences from a headline comparing Hussein to Hitler and from there make conclusions about the war...and the other story had him contemplating the nature of evil. To explore these things he came to rest on the Wicked Witch of the West. He didn't want to deal with a novel about Hitler, and as he said (I'm paraphrasing), "Who sticks out to the Western mind as more evil than the WWoftheW?" And from that, we have Wicked. This kind of thing fascinates me.

What about you?
I have high hopes for forming a group or network of writers. skull_theatre very accurately pinpointed for me exactly what I have been missing so much.

Waaaaaay back when, over 3 years ago, I was a mama staying home with a 3 year old and 6 month old. We were living in a military community in California, and when my husband was there he was so busy trying to learn a foreign language (Korean) we were mostly on our own. Then he went elsehwere to learn a different job, and we were really on our own. But I had this new secret addiction, and from that sprung a wholly new environment and inspiration for me. I found Harry Potter fanfiction one bleary late night, and dove in with strange fascination. Them I found a group of women (they were Snape lovers) and then I fell into LJ and met writers, people agonizing about stories and words and plots and talking about books and literary topics. And it was heady, but it also got me writing again.

This community fostered and encouraged me, they became friends, yes, and many of them are still on my other daily life LJ, women who have read and/or heard things of my life no one else has these 3 years and more...but when I left fandom I left the writing community in a very real way. The give and take, the enthusiasm to read each others work, the understanding and appreciation between others struggling with this alluring beast of writing, the surprising relevatory tangents of inspiration I would get from someone else's struggle or work or allusion...I miss that! For several months I've searched for ways back in that I can live with...looked at fanfic exchanges, thought about groveling to join someone's RP. I hope this journal will eventually help me find something like that again. I hope it is even more varied this time, because I hope to work on original, and I hope to read anything from writers from original to fanfic, from poetry to prose, fiction to nonfiction, etc. ad nauseum. It is the craft, not the genre, that was at the heart of that excitement.

It's taken me a long time to bring myself around to admitting that writing is what I want to do; that my writing is worth making that admission at all. It's certainly not an easy sort of passion or craft. I'm not looking for anything easy, though. I hope anyone along on this ride or reading this journal feels welcome to speak freely and hash it all out with me. Welcome.



that girl with the guinness

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March 2007


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