Outside of perhaps a classroom, it is rare for anyone to demand or even request that a new writer produce work…to write novels, essays, memoir... Writing begins as a practice which is very separate from the day job, in my experience. I started by writing individual sentences, details, moments. I wrote down things which interested me.
Sometimes I imagine a single-panel comic, an adult asking a child what they want to be when they grow up and the child answering, “I want to make 100,000 tiny decisions about language then decide those decisions are all wrong and make 100,000 tiny decisions about language all over again, and realize those decisions are more than half wrong, and make…75,000 more decisions about words on the page…”
It sounds so overwhelming, if one looks at it from the wrong direction. But one word after another, they start to add up.
Writing is a way of being in the world, a way of thinking, of making, of speaking, and can exist entirely separately from all of capitalism’s standard reward systems.
It can be a compulsion.
It is okay to take a break, now and again. Sometimes, a person has to rest. But other times, it can be—oddly—as hard to keep going, to hold faith in the work, as it is to put the practice of writing truly aside.
I’ve recently returned to writing daily, and the process of writing makes me happy.
Your support, with this newsletter, has been a real part of that. I don’t know exactly what kind of magic happened, but I know it comes from you all. Writing is a conversation, and I’m here for it and grateful that you are here, too.
After my recent mini-interview with author Lidia Yuknavitch, I realized I had one more question for her…
I asked Lidia Yuknavitch how she has managed to keep going through all the struggles, personal and global and everything in between, here’s her answer:
Well first I go for long walks near the ocean (sometimes I get in it) or in an old growth forest. The ocean and the forest are bigger than I am. Instantly and eternally I can feel how I am puny on my own, and how there is a story of existence that is older than me, began before I was born, will go on far beyond my own death. This comforts me: to be part of an energy and matter of existence larger than a self, to be part of an ongoing story, a piece of things, really, a glimpse. It helps me to take photos--The photos are like little reminders, little visual talismans that existence extends beyond human individualism and my personal struggles.
Then I go write novels about the world, while I can. That gesture outward--self expression through making art--from any place or circumstance--gives us a place to "put" all the pent up energies and difficulties and contradictions and hope. Making art helps me not give up, helping others find forms of self expression gives me a way to do something useful.
How beautiful is that?
How do you manage to keep going, with your interests and pursuits?
xo
One of my favorite moments, honored….With Lidia, at Powells Books, book launch for The Folly of Loving Life. Good times! xo
This is all so beautiful and true. Thank you, Monica!