Why write

There are a lot of reasons to write.  Some people write to entertain or inform, while others write to gain fame or fortune. Writing also can function as a form of therapy, as documentation, self-expression or art.

 Writing prompt: Come up with five reasons why you write. For each reason, think of a relevant writing project.

Getting ideas

I’m driving (well, weaving) down the road as I search with my fingers for a blank 3-by-5-inch index card from the pile I keep tucked between the front seats. I’ve just gotten another idea for an article — or essay or blog — and want to write it down before I forget.

I frequently get writing ideas while driving, but I also get them while running on the treadmill or using an exercise bike. From what other writers have told me, repetitive movements (walking, knitting, etc.) seem to generate ideas.

 When do you get your ideas? While jogging? While washing the dishes?

What do you do with an idea once you get it? Write it down? Record it on a digital recorder? Forget it?

What I’m reading: My Father’s Vocabulary (poem)

 My Father’s Vocabulary
 By Tony Hoagland
 
In the history of American speech,
he was born between “Dirty Commies” and “Nice Tits.”
 
He worked for Uncle Sam,
and married a dizzy gal from Pittsburgh with a mouth on her.
 
I was conceived in the decade
between “Far out” and “Whatever”;
 
at the precise moment when “going all the way”
turned into “getting it on.”
 
Sometimes, I swear, I can feel the idiom flying around inside my head
like moths left over from the Age of Aquarius.
 
Or I hear myself speak and it feels like I am wearing
a no-longer-groovy cologne from the seventies.
 
In those days I was always trying to get a rap session going
and he was always telling me how to clean out the garage.
 
Our last visit took place in a twilight zone of a clinic,
between “feeling no pain” and “catching a buzz.”
 
For that occasion I had carefully prepared
a suitcase full of small talk
 
–But he was already packed and going backwards,
with the nice tits and diry commies,
 
to the small town of his vocabulary,
somewhere outside of Pittsburgh.
————————————–
Writing prompt: What vocabulary did your father (or mother) use? Try writing a poem based on that vocabulary.

What I’m reading: The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society

I just finished reading The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society, a novel by Mary Shaffer and Annie Barrows. The story, set in 1940s England, has a lightweight tone that seems a bit forced at times, but the book has a certain appeal. The structure presents a challenge. Because the story is a collection of letters written by the characters, all the action is narrated (described after the fact), rather than happening on the page. As a result, the story sometimes isn’t as dramatic as it could be.

Prose, poems and patience

Earlier this week, I stopped by the Blackbird Wineshop to listen to four writers read from their work. They talked about everything from the “intimate isolation” of family reunions to the “decorative gelatins” found at dinner parties. One writer read a first-person poem in which a character says “I held myself in my own arms.” Another writer described himself as a “patient person.” His book, he told us while holding it up, took him 26 years to write.

The flashlight technique

When working on a long piece of writing (say more than five double-spaced pages), it can be difficult to see the whole project at one time. In such situations, it may seem like your brain is a box that is overflowing. It can only hold so much.

One solution is to apply what I’ve come to call the “flashlight technique.”

It’s based on the idea that, in some ways, writing is like walking down a dark road at night while carrying a flashlight. You can see only so far ahead. Now that may seem like a problem, if you think you should be able to see the whole project clearly before proceeding. But, often, writing isn’t like that. It’s written bit by bit. Write as far as you can see — over and over again.

How do you work on long pieces? By outlining the whole thing ahead of time? Breaking it into sections, scenes or chapters? Or maybe you’re one of those fortunate individuals who can envision the entire project in your head.

To talk or not — that is the question

 “I think it’s bad to talk about one’s present work, for it spoils something at the root of the creative act. It discharges the tension,” Norman Mailer once said.

 For writers who write to express themselves, talking about a particular topic may make writing about it unnecessary. On the other hand, I’ve been known to test a piece of my humor writing on unsuspecting friends just to see if they laugh. 

What do you think – that you should either write about it or talk about it? Or maybe your opinion is somewhere in between.