Lisabet Sarai, a writer for whom I have deep admiration, just finished blogging at the ERWA Blog on her experience of revising her novel to suit a publisher’s imprint. ‘Negotiation‘ is a great post worth reading. Most especially if you want to see the process of writing oneself an absolution. I don’t say that cattily or in any derogatory way; I think writers are always in a process of a negotiation between what they perceive to be their authentic voice and what the marketplace demands. Lisabet concludes by reminding herself, and us, that all the angst she experienced through the editorial process was for nothing. How silly to take one’s writing so seriously. “I don’t view my words as sacred.”
On the very same day, Big Ed posted a piece on self-censorship. He offers an examination of why writers do it and why he has done it and concludes, ultimately, that for him it is about the fear that he will not be able to communicate his ideas clearly enough to his readers. That he’s not a good enough writer to get the depth of what he’s trying to get across.
Both of these posts are really about what writers believe they ‘owe’ their readers.
I’d like to look at the mirror side of this and ask what a writer owes themselves. Because I don’t believe, as Lisabet does, that I owe my reader the story they expect. If anything, I believe I owe them the opposite. I owe them what they don’t expect. Nor to I agree with Ed that prowess in writing is the faithful transmission of the ideas in my brain to the readers. From what I understand of the reading process, I don’t think it’s possible and, if it were, I would not think it was desirable.
Lisabet’s statement about her words not be sacred forced me to ask the question: if your words aren’t sacred, then what is? Because – and I know this will sound incredibly egotistical – I DO think my words are sacred. If anything about me is sacred, it’s my words. I don’t expect readers or publishers or editors to feel the same way, but I must.
I have no children. My words are all that will survive me. They are sacred to me. That doesn’t mean every word I write is inviolate, or that I couldn’t benefit from a good, stiff edit, but if my words are quotidian and profane, then why write them at all? If I don’t think they’re sacred, why would I ever strive to improve them?
It has become normative for us to consume writing like we consume everything else. It’s a product. You should get what you expect. You should be delivered what you want. You should and can return it if it doesn’t meet your expectations. We have turned fiction into just another consumer product, and because of that, our relationship with it has changed forever. This generation will never feel challenged or privileged or awed by what they read anymore than they will feel challenged or privileged or awed by a pair of sneakers or meal. And that is sad.
It’s a world I choose not to step into. It’s a game I will not play. It’s a reality I will ignore. Because I will not reduce my relationship with words and the stories they constitute – mine, or those of another – to a commodity. My words are sacred to me. More times than I can count, I have felt that the words of other writers were sacred, too.
If I don’t believe my words are important, special, worthy…then how can I ever hope a reader will receive them that way and join in the pleasure of participating in the meaning-making process with me?
I couldn’t agree more with your assessment. The pact between writer and reader is not a commodity, nor should it be subject to the whims, expectations and entitlements of consumerism. The notion of “triggers” and soothing delicate sensibilities is finding legs, and that is most unfortunate for it represents a new, insidious form of censorship.
The only promise I make to a potential reader is that I have done my best on that day, on that story—that I own my mistakes, that each step on my writing journey is open for any and all to accompany me if they so choose. But it is a journey I will make, alone or in company.
Because, yes, my words are important, even if only to me.
I cannot imagine reworking a story to suit someone else’s sensibilities. First and foremost, I write to please myself. If I am satisfied with a story, if it speaks to the emotions I was trying to evoke, then it is as it should be. Does this mean I am relegated to the fringes of the writing world – sure. Do I care? Well, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to reach a wider audience. I’d love to have more readers . . .but not at the expense of my message. I’d much rather touch the few with integrity, than the masses with watered down, easily digestible, mass-market fare.
I *so* agree with you here. I don’t view my writing as a career, but rather as a vocation. I tread a path that winds around the commercial side, yet somehow, I have never aimed to make that path a straight one. It takes me where it takes me.
RG, I love this post and all the thoughts it provokes in me. I appreciate the distinctions you make. As someone who set out to write commercial fiction (and to preach, which is a popular medium that is appropriately concerned with getting a message across, still knowing we can’t ultimately control how it’s heard) I believe there is something sacred in the words, even when they are deliberately written in relationship with a congregation or a commercial audience. I took the click-bait yesterday by reading that article about Fifty Shades of Grey on the New Republic (http://www.newrepublic.com/article/117814/50-shades-grey-academic-study-feminist-point-view–But don’t bother, its mean, misogynist drivel.) He suggests most romance writers’ words come to us with all the effort of ejaculating, based on his extrapolation from that one example. I’m sure mine wouldn’t meet his standards, but I wrestle with every sentence, considering my audience, and how I can best tell them the story I’ve conceived. And maybe because of the weird story in Genesis about God and Jacob wrestling, I’m inclined to think of that kind of struggle as sacred.
Actually, I did bother. I bothered because it was dismissal draped in sophisticated language. And I don’t think the success of FSOG can be dismissed, but I am genuinely interested in understanding why it was so successful, and the author is not. He’s probably still in a shitty mood from having forced himself to read most of it. And honestly, I felt the same way when I read it. It took me a while to cool down from being addressed as an idiot.
I agree with you, RG. Many times I fight with myself saying: “If I want to sell my stories I have to write what Readers and Publishers want”.
Yes, but I CANNOT do it.
End of the story.
My words are SACRED, yes, sacred in the sense they come from my fucking life, which is not a pleasant walk.
My words are not a commercial product, my words are not for all, they are for people who want to think, not to pass time only.
I agree with you one-hundred percent. Words- our words- must be sacred and we must not fall victim to the commercialization of those words. One of my biggest complaints about music is that the words no longer mean anything- that they are written to fit a formula of what sells rather than to express what the artist feels. And so much of literature is based on feeling that to reduce words to that same formula is to create a market of fluff. We can all use a “stiff edit,” as you put it, but that edit should not threaten the heart of the work….
I think what we owe our readers is to dig deep to find emotional truths in our work. I feel tasked with not looking away at the difficult moments, not flinching. When I succeed, it will resonate with someone else, it will surprise and engage the mind, it will last. That’s what is sacred.
RG,
Seems a rarity to find commercial success, a living, and not compromise personal convictions, at least to some degree. That struggle is a part of life, in my opinion. We have sacred words, sacred convictions but life attempts to crush them from time to time. No its not fair, again its life.
I haven’t read the FSOG series, though I’ve seen it prominently displayed at the big box stores next to the greeting card isle. There’s something about it that just doesn’t seem right. Aside from the strange feeling of amusement as I look at the shelves, there is no curiosity because even though I haven’t read it, I feel I already have. RG is correct, as a mere reader I personally desire the unexpected, the erotic internal conflict of realistic characters, and scenario’s. To do that the writer must keep their words and convictions sacred. Thank you RG!
~TFP
RG,
Thanks for this eloquent post. I suspect that the route by which writers come to writing affects their motivation. Some see the trade as a way to make a living. Others see writing as a vehicle to educate, entertain, or persuade. Still others see writing as a medium of self-expression, emotional revelation, or “meaning-making,” as you so artfully put it. Writers in this last group MUST consider their words sacred. Compromising for the sake of making a sale would cheat the reader and the writer. Thanks for not cheating me.
This is rather a late post, and there isn’t much to add to the thoughtful comments so far. I’ll just offer that in my writing career I’ve always endeavored to follow the example of M.F.K. Fisher. She believed that the writer’s responsibility to the reader was to produce the good and pleasing sentence. What that sentence is about will be something the reader can either follow and enjoy, or eschew. As for a shoe maker, so for a writer. The shoe maker should strive to make the best and most pleasing pair of shoes, by the shoe maker’s own light. If Carrie or Imelda don’t fancy them, they may walk on by.
Good advice! Thank you for your comment.