Category: Literary Thoughts

“Writing a book is like moving into an imaginary house. The author, the sole inhabitant, wanders from room to room, choosing furnishings, correcting imperfections, adding new wings” (“Labyrinths,” a profile of author Susanna Clark by Laura Miller, The New Yorker, September 14, 2020). I agree with Miller’s description, save one major modification. The book’s characters are also inhabitants. It’s true that the abode a writer creates is not a democracy; the final choices are made solely by the author. However, sometimes those other inhabitants persuade, insist, or nag the writer to make a different choice. Read more thoughts about writing in REFLECTIONS.

“One need not become another person, or to have had exactly the same experience, in order to imagine that person’s life — which is why the foundation of metaphor is empathy. Art and metaphor do not make other people’s experiences identical. They make other people’s experiences imaginable [italics author’s].” So says David Moser in Sontag: Her Life and Work, taking issue with Sontag’s final paragraph in Regarding the Pain of Others in which she claims we cannot understand or imagine what others have gone through unless we’ve served on the front lines with them. I agree with Moser, and bristle when creative people are accused of cultural appropriation, which denies our capacity for imagination and our right to empathize with the human condition. On the contrary, creativity demands that we go beyond our own boundaries and enter the world of the other. See more of my thoughts on writing in REFLECTIONS.

The July–August 2020 issue of Poets & Writers features thirteen quotes by “Authors on Creativity in Quarantine” describing their (in)ability to write during the pandemic. Says one guilt-free poet: “I’m not writing a lot creatively right now. I am having wonderful exchanges with my students. I go out and talk to my neighbors. I guess this will all end up in a poem. But maybe not. And that’s just fine” (Gabrielle Calvocoressi). COVID-19 has not affected the amount of creative writing I do. I still write every day. Nor do I feel compelled to act as a witness to the pandemic, although my characters may be more fearful, angrier, or in search of escape. But the act of writing itself remains constant. And that’s just fine. For more of my thoughts on writing, see REFLECTIONS.

The July–August 2020 issue of Poets & Writers features thirteen quotes by “Authors on Creativity in Quarantine” about how and why they do (or don’t) write during the lockdown. I half agreed with this one: “Writing remains just as and no more difficult than it always has. On bad days, I do not lose myself in my writing. On good days, that doesn’t happen either. Every sentence is a boulder pushed up a hill that does not change in steepness or in height. Some days I have the strength to push; some days I have the strength to lie down and take a nap; never do I know what kind of day it will be” (Novelist Lillian Li). I agree that the nature of writing has not changed for me. Before the pandemic, I wrote every day. During the pandemic, I write every day. Writing is hard work. Some days, words flow more easily than others. But, unlike Li, I keep going. Forcing myself to take a nap would be more effortful than restorative. Doing the work produces the reward. So I stay awake. Every day. For more of my thoughts on writing, see REFLECTIONS.

In the July–August 2020 issue of Poets & Writers, which features thirteen quotes by “Authors on Creativity in Quarantine,” one describes turning to a different form of writing during the pandemic lockdown: “The last thing I want to do is write fiction. It all feels like fiction already. Instead I’ve gone back to the least artistic form: a journal. That’s what I want right now: Minutiae. The meals we ate, that I let another load of laundry mildew, that my son screamed I LOVE YOU to the neighbor boy across the street. Because when I do return to fiction, I’ll need the people at home, half panicked and half happy, doing the ordinary things: washing the dishes and putting their kids to bed” (Novelist Alyssa Knickerbocker). As a writer of historical fiction, I know that those mundane details bring a story to life. I am forever grateful to the journal keepers and letter writers whose records of their day-to-lives not only bring my stories to life, but are often the inspiration for the character traits and plot events I write about. For more of my thoughts on writing, see REFLECTIONS.

The July–August 2020 issue of Poets & Writers features thirteen quotes by “Authors on Creativity in Quarantine” describing how and why they can (or can’t) write during the lockdown. I like the defiance behind this thought:“I think writing is a form of protest. Over the past two decades, as an Asian American poet, I wrote more and worked harder as a form of protest. Oddly, today I feel similarly; I write now to tell off the pandemic. To prove that writing as an act can and will endure. It might not save us, but I know it will always be here for us” (Poet Victoria Chang). For more of my thoughts on writing, see REFLECTIONS.

In the July–August 2020 issue of Poets & Writers, which features thirteen quotes by “Authors on Creativity in Quarantine,” I often nodded in recognition. Then I read: “When the pandemic began, I found myself careening from deep despair to terrifying fear. Neither allows me to write or create in a meaningful way. When I was finally able to return to the page, what struck me is that fear is more incapacitating than despair. I could surrender to hopelessness and still make something. If I focused on fear, I was silenced” (Poet Ada Limon).With me, the opposite is true. Despair is all pervasive; why make an effort when life is hopeless? Fear is specific and prompts action; can I defang the cause or ameliorate the reaction to it? Writing is how I examine the roots of fear and the ways we try to overcome it. For more of my thoughts on writing, see REFLECTIONS.

The July–August 2020 issue of Poets & Writers features thirteen quotes by “Authors on Creativity in Quarantine.” Among the statements that struck a chord with me: “It is strange when life mimics art. Or when the darkest fears manifest. And you have to challenge yourself to stay open and connected to the things you love, the people and the work. I am writing every day now as the lockdown continues and do not feel like I’m playing the violin on a ruptured Titanic. How I love to be transported when I work, and when I write I am simply going toward love. It’s all I know how to do” (Novelist Peter Heller). I too write every day simply because writing is what I do. I am compelled to write, but like Heller, I am also enamored of the work. Writing is both an escape from the fear and also a way to face it head on. For more of my thoughts on writing, see REFLECTIONS.

The July–August 2020 issue of Poets & Writers features thirteen quotes by “Authors on Creativity in Quarantine.” Novelists, memoirists, and poets describe (not) writing, during the pandemic lockdown, and the writing life in general. Among the statements that fit me: “The process of writing poetry depends on being alone for long periods of time — almost reveling in solitude and slow time” (Author Janine Joseph quoting poet Philip Levine). This solitary process is true of all writing, not just poetry. That’s why writers joke about “gluing our butts to the chair” and Virginia Woolf craved a room of one’s own. For me, the isolation imposed by the pandemic isn’t much different than my life before lockdown. I sat alone and wrote virtually every day. While I feel the constraints of not being to go out for an occasional coffee with friends, and ache from missing evening “play dates” with my grandsons, my writing life has not substantially changed. My characters are good company and I’m grateful for their presence. I recite a daily blessing of thanks for the gift of writing that keeps my mind and body engaged. Work allows me to say without boasting or displaying false modesty that I like my own company. For more of my thoughts on writing, see REFLECTIONS.