someone pointed me to this article and told me that i would find it interesting because i have studied writing in college and commonly express my interest in writing either a fiction novel or a series of short fictional stories. the article is a brief review of some book all the erudite folks at the village voice find mesmeric. it is followed by an interview with the author.
despite being slightly annoyed by the “arteest” nature of some of the thoughts the author expressed throughout the piece, i liked this particular question and the response because i think it can be applied to any medium of art one chooses to explore:
“I’ve been telling my students about the “honesty” of the fiction writer. It doesn’t matter how far-out or weird or syntactically rigorous a story might get as long as the fiction writer makes herself vulnerable in the process of composition, she can pull it off. Your fiction, despite or because of the charged humor, feels especially vulnerable to me. Do you put a premium on vulnerability in your fiction? I’m not sure that I try to make myself vulnerable, but I know that I feel hugely vulnerable when I write. Nothing in life makes me feel more exposed and self-conscious. (That’s true even when I’m writing something I know I won’t share.) Nothing is less obviously meaningful than writing. It just doesn’t go without saying that one should spend hours in a room putting words on a page. More than anything I know of, writing demands to be justified. It perpetually begs the question: Why do this at all? It’s writing’s blessing and its curse.”
i know when i sit down at night and i write my 1000 word free-writes, or during the day when i try to string short narratives together on my free time, i’m writing for myself. yet when the thought crosses my mind that someday somebody will read this (and i know they will, because i plan on giving hard drives filled with my entire life’s work to friends and family to read aloud upon my death), i begin to worry about the implications of having others readily critique what i have written. what if they don’t empathize? what if they don’t understand? what if they arrive at their own conclusions about the intrinsic nature of what i’ve written and it’s wrong? i sometimes force myself to believe everyone has these thoughts. i want to believe that our self-consciousness is what drives our art. so when i write, when create, it’s impossible to deny the fear that runs parallel to the project.
all these questions can be attributed to songwriting as well. since i am better versed in this artistic style, i guess it makes more sense to explore the vulnerabilities that are present when writing and performing songs than it would to discuss books since i haven’t yet written one. is it the best possible strategy to make yourself vulnerable as an author? i’m not so sure. i think on some level i want to be as honest as possible without directly stating purpose or intention within the lyrical content of a given song. what’s my obligation to an audience? to speak verbatim from my own life experiences, to generalize emotions in a way others can relate to, or to not even be honest, simply construct stories in which audiences can find their own meaning? i don’t mean to pose all these questions, but i think the lack of answers speaks volumes about my desire to continue searching for my own distinct voice.
at this moment in time my process is very self-scrutinizing. without deconstructing individual songs (which would be very boring), i can try to graze the surface. i never try to write for an audience. i often hear, “at some point you need to think about target listeners.” perhaps it’s true, but i’m not so sure music should be considered democratic. if an audience can relate, it’s a nice bonus, but i’m not going to strive to direct a message to someone. i’d rather just try share my love of the music of language. i enjoy toying with the sounds and rhythm of the language. i use words to describe stories from my life, or (gasp) emotional responses to various circumstances. nevertheless, from the time i sit down with a melody to the time i step back and admire the results, i’m filled with doubt. i don’t want to appear too obvious, and yet i fear overusing metaphors. i want each line to stand on it’s own, and i want the finished product to gel. i hope my vulnerability aids the process. i hope it makes sense.
i’d write more, but i’m late for my dinner plans. many of you who are involved in “the arts” i think will understand what i’m trying to say. maybe you can even put it in better terms. maybe i’m just looking for someone to say, “yeah, i hear what you’re saying.”
