Pondering on the Act of Writing

As the “ambivalent writer” that I am, I had many ideas to write a “good” response paper about book The Forest for the Trees by Betsy Lerner, especially, when finding that this book has your name in every word, in every sentence, in every description. In one way, it makes you realize you are not the only one, that there are thousands, even millions going through the same “suffering” of writing. On the other hand, it also makes you realize that you are not as special as you thought. Which one is worse? It depends on your ego.

As I was saying before, I just couldn’t make myself find the time to sit down and simply start writing. My fear, my need to say something, and not having any idea how, and all these contradictory feelings about writing, which conform this peculiar relationship between writer and writing described by the author as the love-hate affair: “For most writers, writing is a love-hate affair”, wouldn’t let me. Now, it seems that all my brilliant ideas flew away. Now that I actually have to write something about the book, I have no idea where to start. Suddenly, as always, I am in front of this computer with my Microsoft Word program open and nothing to write about. At least, nothing that I feel deserves to be read, which is at the end of the day, pure fear. But not fear of failure or fear of not being heard, which are some of fears that the author describes in her book. I would say that this is the fear of not being good enough (what Susan Sontag calls “the writer’s agony”, which is recalls for the author’s book in her “self-promoter” part). However, what does it exactly mean to be “not good enough”? And, who does determine that: you, your graduate school teacher, your classmates, your mother, the bestseller’s list, the editor’s, or the critics? Who?

It is 5: 24 pm and I am thinking, like the neurotic writer within me, that it would be a good idea to go to my yoga class. “Maybe, in the middle of the meditation, when my mind is calm, my ideas finally would settle down. I’m going to have paper and pencil in my car; so, when ‘the inspiration’ comes I would be prepared,” I think. The next day, at 11:50 am, I went to my yoga class, and it never happened, but at least, the moments in class give me the space between me a my writing that I always need to write. That’s my plan, my strategy. In fact, as the author says: “what’s useful about neurotic behaviors is that they can give a shapeless day structure…then at least you have plan”. Indeed, it is an excellent reason as to why these neurotic behaviors have been adopted by many writers.

In many ways, the first part of the book meets with many concerns that I have had as a “wannabe” writer and still am having: What is scarier than exposing yourself to the world? Because, writing is about exposing yourself, even if, “you are never writing what really happened”. The author is right about that. And then she adds “writers want to believe that readers are sophisticated enough to understand that writing and life are two different things”. Yeah, we wish that it would be understood. But, on the other hand, as the author also points out, what else do we have to write about but our own experiences?

suggests in some point: “… a writer gravitates toward a certain form or genre because, like a well-made jacket, it suits him” because I think it is more about finding what suits your idea better rather than what suits you. Thus, “the story will tell itself”. Perhaps for this reason, authors like Anais Nin chose to right not just in different genres but in different languages.

As for my personal experience, I should say that it never ever is the same to write your idea either as poetry or as novel, as essay or as short story. And the same applies about languages; it is never the same to write something either in Spanish or English. And when you do it, you are taking a risk: losing the essence in translation, because language is also a form.

After reading the first part of The Forest for the Trees, after shifting from among the Neurotic writer, The Ambivalent one, The Wicked Child and The Self- Promoter, after recognizing every one in me; I am discovering, as if there wasn’t enough “drama” for a “wannabe” writer like I considered myself, that now I have to write, and regardless the circumstances, have to write in a form or language where I am a stranger. And perhaps, I always will be.

sasha@revistaelite.com