On the mysterious something
On the mysterious something
find more connection in art and writing
One of the most common challenges for writers who haven’t yet found their stride (in a project or generally) is overthinking.
Many of us have been here. We use all the tips, tricks, and techniques at our disposal. We want to use the extensive vocabulary we’ve amassed! We explore big ideas and sound smart, but something is missing. We realize that while sharing what we know factually can be mildly entertaining and potentially vocabulary-building for the reader, it does little to build a true connection.
Writing to foster connection, on the other hand, focuses on something beyond intellectual ideas and cultural or historical expertise. What’s frustrating for many intelligent people is that this “something” that connects us is mysterious.
Clive Bell, author of Art (1913) was a celebrated art critic who explored what this meant visually. Counter to what many critics do, analyzing technique, he argued that artistic resonance creates “aesthetic emotion,” which gives the art significance. This significance, he said, abides by mysterious laws. Writing and storytelling can achieve a similar mysterious significance.
We are overlooking the significance of the world in our constant quest for it later. —Alan Watts
As an educator, I recognize the value of structure. I understand that providing clear expectations offers people a certain amount of comfort and ease. But as I work with a dedicated and promising student, I also love to peel this structure back and provide more, erm . . . experimental assignments. (If you’ve worked with me, you know.)
Sometimes writers rebel. They want to know exactly what and how to write. They want to see their work with optimized rhythms and plot points. I tell them that’s not the point. Storytelling, for all its power to create and destroy, has a tricky relationship with formula. It’s in the nuance of emotional connection that we find meaning.
Besides, it’s the formulaic writing that computers can take care of from here on in. We want a way to connect, to find relationships with humans across time and space through the power of words.
One entry point for finding significance is simply how we’re feeling—our emotions and sensations (pains and satiation alike)—right now. Sensation can be translated to the page, but only if we are aware enough to know or remember how we feel (I recently taught a class on this for Thurber House).
Another way to explore is by zeroing in on the minutia of life (the small, ignored details). And if focus isn’t possible, we can thrust ourselves into new environments. Julia Cameron recommends a writer go on an artist date, which means trying something new and getting the heart rate and adrenaline to surge by exposing oneself to a less-predictable day.
It’s fun to experiment with this, by letting go of the analysis and diving into the emotion. It may take a few tries and a new start on the same old piece, but if our aim is less about the ideas and more about the mysterious something, we will achieve everything we’re stifling by trying too hard.
Maybe more.
Prompt: Write/create the most intellectual piece imaginable. Now read it back. Have a nice chuckle (or relish your brilliance for a while). Rewrite the same piece using simple words, describing sensation, and exploring without pretense as though no one will ever read the thing. (Write something so true, you want to set it ablaze.) This is the one that will connect.