March Update: Channeling "I Get To"
Can I share with you a moment that made me feel very powerful?
Can I share with you a moment that made me feel very powerful?
At some point this month, I gathered with writers in the Dormer Window library and we shared writing made from our deepest pockets of optimism (believing we could write something that would say something interest and artful and true), grief (believing we could enter into the most pointed parts of reality), and restlessness (believing the clutter of all we’re taking in from the personal and national angles of life could be shaped into something coherent and shareable to attain a measure of solace).
Of course, when you’re part of a writing group you agree to receiving feedback on your work. It’s the transaction that can be the most valuable yet precarious part.
Everyone starts positive—that is a rule—but then reactions twist into dangerous territory. People point out where a piece was confusing or too predictable or missed the mark, which can be very bruising to the maker who works from a very intense and specific vision.
This month, a writer from the Dormer Window library group was critical of what I’d submitted. She didn’t get it, she found too many gaps that left her frustrated and unsatisfied.
Did she kill my spark, she asked?
It is very possible for someone to do this in a writing group. It happens all the time, and the very sweet, precious idea you once had dies in a poof. Writing is a delicate act.
And so, what is the reward? Why do this work?
I have been in many writing workshops. I have written many works that remain lodged in my laptop, others that went on to be nominated for awards, published in dream magazines, even illuminated on buildings in New York City. The writing dream has touched me, but through much perilousness. There have been many tears. Writers are marathon runners. The work is gruelling and endurance based. Training is not easy.
No, I said to the woman who criticized my work. You did not kill my spirit. My drive to write and make things is bigger. And, well, perhaps you’re a person who feels this too…and you have asked yourself this very question.
For me, in gathering a response to her, it became clear that I make things because I like being challenged. I like that art is dangerous. I like that it wrests us into the mess of life, the awkward and vulnerable interactions we usually resist. Art does not come from forces of our "purist", most tolerant selves. We're all shadowy, un-pure creatures—and that's interesting. Art comes alive at this. Art is confessional.
Our highest moral selves can never illicit full truths. While aspirational, it’s something ego loves. And ego can get us to the blank page, canvas, etc but it’s flimsy and gives up easily.
And…… I get to!
In the midst of a maddening political environment and the pounding of a million responsibilities and complaints I have about everyone being impure (!)… , I get to siphon myself off and make something that becomes a portal, which brings me to something very solitary and, yes, after several tries, connected to a bigger idea, bigger reality, bigger self that feels pretty timeless and empowering. Yes.
As I end this declaration, I leave you with Jamie Oliver. The portal and magic and simplicity and power of him making pasta for his son is the BEST. And he’s being very funny as his child shows zero interest.
And your audience is so equally fortunate that you “get to”.