I am listening to a beautiful piece of music composed and recorded by a friend of mine, and thinking about the process of creation. I happen to know this individual is demanding of himself and would only reveal his art once it met his standards of perfection (although I realize he is never fully satisfied).
Under normal circumstances when we view art, listen to music, read literature, we are presented with the final product. We are staggered at the fullness of the mature work, awed by the skill and soul that rendered it into its final form. It creates -- or establishes, perhaps is the better word -- a distance between us and the creator.
This leads me to my point. I am that person who wants to read nine rough drafts. I want to hear the hours of practice, of adjustments, of struggle. I want to hear the cursing, the gnashing of teeth, see the perspiration, I want to watch the clay be slung against the wall to cling for an instant before plopping to the studio floor. I want to watch the march, I want to see the sawdust fly from the blade.
Again, in this and every aspect of my life, I want to see the man behind the curtain. You may think this spoils the magic. I think it makes the magic more magical, to know that it didn't just happen with no effort. I guess that's what makes me so weird. ~~GH
[Tomorrow: Those Who Risk]
Thought I'd share some thoughts I had about my writing process. The following are excerpts from a conversation with a dear friend of mine who is an accomplished writer and editor, and a wonderful spirit. To preserve her privacy, I am only including my comments.
I'm working on a dark story about, what else, man's inhumanity to man. It is coming along well but I had to step away from it for a bit. Although I don't delude myself (too often), it's still disturbing at times to realize that aspect is part of who we are, as well. I am doing my best to incorporate and accept it as part of the whole without value judgments.
It's like holding up a mirror to my naked self and graphically sketching the ugliest aspects. I know every other human being has those same features; I keep reminding myself of that truth. It is an exercise in courage to purposefully reveal them so openly despite knowing, again, that everyone else shares them too.
Writing is actually a physical, visceral process. The more I write, the more disturbing it gets. There are dark corners in this brain of mine. Is a real leap of faith to part the curtain and let readers peer into it. I console myself -- weakly sometimes at best -- that every one of us possess the same darknesses. I know many choose to turn their backs on those aspects and pretend they don't exist.
For me, it's like knowing a cancer grows. I'd rather face it, sit with it, listen to it howl, hold its hand, learn what it has to teach me. It is, after all, part of me that I brought along for the journey. We may as well get to know one another. ~~GH
