Another great piece, and, for me, a timely one as I edit the draft of my autofiction novella. Your line, ‘The part of me that knows how to sound smart is the part that built my career. Opening the scar feels like putting that identity at risk.’ hit me loud and clear. I spent my youth hiding behind what I called (from being a barmaid and publican’s daughter) my ‘quick wit and smart answers’. You have described so well the way I actually work with emotion and craft. Writing about one’s own life is difficult and often painful…but the ‘splat on the page’ needs to be crafted. Please understand that I speak in respect. I recognise myself in your clarity of understanding.
I guess we all develop our own ways of coping with the world. Nothing wrong with that. I guess it only becomes risky when the coping mechanism hardens into an identity we can’t step outside of.
And yes, the “splat on the page” still needs shaping. That’s the writer’s job, isn’t it? Intentionality is what turns emotion into art. I imagine Baldwin pouring out those early raw notes right after his father passed away, and then, years later, returning to the wound to shape it. Choosing what stays, what’s left out, how the personal intersects with the political. And then we get to read something like Notes of a Native Son.
Another great piece, and, for me, a timely one as I edit the draft of my autofiction novella. Your line, ‘The part of me that knows how to sound smart is the part that built my career. Opening the scar feels like putting that identity at risk.’ hit me loud and clear. I spent my youth hiding behind what I called (from being a barmaid and publican’s daughter) my ‘quick wit and smart answers’. You have described so well the way I actually work with emotion and craft. Writing about one’s own life is difficult and often painful…but the ‘splat on the page’ needs to be crafted. Please understand that I speak in respect. I recognise myself in your clarity of understanding.
Thanks, Lindy!
I guess we all develop our own ways of coping with the world. Nothing wrong with that. I guess it only becomes risky when the coping mechanism hardens into an identity we can’t step outside of.
And yes, the “splat on the page” still needs shaping. That’s the writer’s job, isn’t it? Intentionality is what turns emotion into art. I imagine Baldwin pouring out those early raw notes right after his father passed away, and then, years later, returning to the wound to shape it. Choosing what stays, what’s left out, how the personal intersects with the political. And then we get to read something like Notes of a Native Son.