Tag: Reflections from Ann S Epstein Writer

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.

William Styron (author of The Confessions of Nat Turner and Sophie’s Choice) said, “I don’t think an historical novelist should be restricted to the facts; he should take liberties. The historical novelist works best when fed on short rations.” Yes! Give us a crumb, we can create an entire loaf. Give us a loaf, the best we can do is slice it and add sandwich filling. When I write, I freely mix fact and fiction. The best reward is when I finish a manuscript and can’t remember what’s fact and what’s my own invention. For more of my thoughts on writing, see REFLECTIONS.

The July–August 2020 issue of Poets & Writers, in “Authors on Creativity in Quarantine,” features thirteen writers describing their experience writing (or not) during the COVID-19 lockdown. Many also shared general thoughts about the writing life. Among the statements that resonated with me: “Artists have written through world wars and famine, genocides and natural disasters, through dictators, through drought. We write not to find clarity, but to become comfortable in our confusions. Comfortable with the fact that there are no easy answers coming” (Author Joshua Mohr). In fact, this is true of all writing, in all circumstances, not just under these extremes. We ponder enigmas — particularly the vicissitudes of human relationships — every time we employ our words. Some people crave happy endings, others are drawn to apocalyptic finales. But most authors and readers, myself included, prefer works whose conclusions are open-ended. Goodness and grace without guarantees, tragedy and torment with glimmers of hope. Writing allows us to live with that ambiguity. For more of my thoughts on writing, see REFLECTIONS.

The July–August 2020 issue of Poets & Writers includes a feature titled “Authors on Creativity in Quarantine.” Thirteen authors describe their (in)ability to write during the COVID-19 lockdown. Many include general ruminations on the writing life. Among the statements that resonated with me: “Writing is a form of dissociation. In the hours of real absorption, you leave behind your room, your body, even the mind you imagine as your own. I needed badly to experience that freedom precisely because I sensed how long it would be before I would have it again” (Author Adam Haslett). Psychologists define dissociation as “ranging from a mild emotional detachment from one’s immediate surroundings to a more severe disconnection from physical and emotional experiences.” In contrast to this mental disorder, writing more fully immerses me in the thoughts, feelings, and physicality of my characters, and the sensory attributes of the environment I’m creating. Hence I prefer the term “heightened engagement” to describe the writing process. Authors dissociate from the immediate world in order to associate more intensely with our imagined one. For more of my thoughts on writing, see REFLECTIONS.