Not the Slab; A Microscope

“If I had to give young writers advice, I would say  don’t listen to writers talk about writing or themselves.” Lillian Hellman

Whoops.

I transmit from a cottage in Republican country. Today is Thursday.  Outside the cold could sink deeper into your bones than self doubt.  I heard from my writing protege today.  “Protege”  for lack of a better word.  Also,  I  like it.  Not to mention my protege is no  slouch. She’s  a published novelist and short story writer and asked me to act as her writing mentor.      

Holy crap. Today,  my protege asked  me this  question: should  a writer  understand him or herself thoroughly before writing?

Plenty of writers write everyday without any self awareness at all. But most of what they write is boring.  What I mean by boring  is easy-formulaic-safe-superficial. Yeah?  (Of course there’s also those writers who are so  full of themselves everything they write is pretentious. But ego and self awareness aren’t the same thing, right?)

I used to teach creative writing at the University of Oregon. Most  my students were either a.) young, b.) oblivious or c.) defensive/afraid. We can’t help youth.   Like Genesis. We  start somewhere. And that’s okay,  beautiful in fact.  

But those other two things, hmm? Let’s stick to “oblivious”  for now.  

Lately I’ve had an opportunity to work with a life coach, by proximity mostly. My boss is working with a life coach, and because of that, she’s invited me and my coworkers to do some stuff with this man, like mini workshops.  Also, we’re reading his book, Is It Fun Being You?    The man’s  name is Marcus. He emanates a becoming  aura.  He’s  confident, peaceful, engaged, and aware. He crackles with it, happiness.  I mean, he’s  freaking weird. What I mean is, I’ve not ever before encountered  a man  from whom such warm and sincerity rolled. Ever. This  coming from a  woman  who has  suffered  trauma  at the hands of men.  

Anyway, Marcus believes happiness is not possible without self awareness.

Having listened to Marcus and participated in a couple  mini workshops with him, I feel  more  certain than ever the sort of writing I’ve done and want to continue doing is possible only as a result of my own hyper self awareness.

What do I mean? I had a writing mentor in graduate school who asked, “If it doesn’t hurt, why are you writing it?” Self examination  is painful. That’s what I mean. Today Marcus mentioned how our “personalities” are not  our true selves. Yeah. Everyday, my personality shows up for work. Later, the true me writes.  And my writing reveals what I’ve discovered via  relentless self examination.  I  inventory my motivations, my actions, and  feelings all the time  then ask myself questions.

Why did I do that?

How did I feel?

Why would I make that choice?

Was it self sabotage or self preservation?

What was the result?

Am I making the same mistakes over and over again?

What are my  patterns? What do they mean?

Why the heck am I feeling defensive, scared, hopeful, jealous right now?

 Why am I  pissed? Why do I feel offended?  How the fuck did I get here?

I’m hard on myself, yes.  But I hardly ever do anything without being  conscious of it, and that’s the truth. Also, when  I lie about having done something “unconsciously” I’m aware I’m lying. Except  the times  I  zone out. As writers we  do it,  check the fuck out;  we’re gone.  Sometimes  I get so into it,  writing in my head,  even  while driving, which is why I end up with speeding tickets. Bad. But also  I’m a  task driven person and  can  lose myself in a task and not hear anything going on around me. True story.

Nobody can write  in way that’s convincing,  complex and  multi-dimensional, in a way that moves others to a reaction, if  he or she is oblivious.  We have to understand what makes us tick. Then we  understand what makes other people tick.  What do you think?  I’m a middle aged single mother who often writes as young gay men.  Love and desire  don’t feel the same to me as a young gay man? Really?  We sure do like to draw lines in the sand.  My son enjoys  this cartoon called The Grim Adventures of Billy and Mandy, and in one episode, Billy tapped his inner frat boy, and his inner frat boy was  suspect of anyone who wasn’t  a frat boy. Inner frat boy said, “How dare they be  different from you! You should hate them for being different.”

Know what my son said. “Billy is so stupid sometimes.”  

Here’s something  I’ll admit, damn it:  I like to think my boss and I have nothing in common. Why?  I don’t know. Oh, sure I do.  I’m afraid of people in positions of power over me. Also, I’m  a hypocrite. The other day my boss said,  “If anything happened to my daughter, they’d have to put me in a straight jacket.” I had this moment, you know, when I heard a  click then my true self answered back, Amen, sister.

Here’s something else.  My  boss  is a competitve person;  she  compares  herself to other people in the same  profession, and I do the same fucking thing all the time, meaning I  compare myself to other writers and then pale by comparison or feel superior, depending. Jesus. Either way, such comparisons are  stupid and counter productive. I’m stupid when I do this, and  the results are counter productive. Duh.  New leaf. Just like my boss, I now  make a conscious decision everyday to feel happy for my  peers, to support and congratulate them, but to not suddenly  freak  out if so-and-so got her novel published and I’m still working on mine two years later, or so-and-so won  an award and I just lost three  writing contests in a row.

So what? I mean, good for so-and-so, really, but also, good for me, and good for you, too,  because we all  do what  we do to the best of our ability, and that’s worth feeling happy about.

Tonight is Thursday. I transmit from a cottage in Republican country. It’s  cold outside. I’ve got a coat.