Writing « Francisco's Journal

January 13, 2012

Letter to a Young Author

Filed under: Beauty,Love,Uncategorized,Vocation,Writing — Francisco Stork @ 10:55 am

Friend,

I am glad to hear about the joy you’ve found in writing. You ask if this is not a sign that you are meant to make of writing your life’s occupation. I don’t know. Is writing your vocation? If I may borrow the words from another author friend: “Vocation is the place where your deep gladness meets the world’s great need.” You have found gladness, but are you writing to the world’s great need? The world’s great need will be met when you write the one novelÂ you came into this world to write.Â It is the one that scares you the most, the one you think no one will publish and if it is published then no one will read and if it is read then no one will understand, except perhapsÂ anotherÂ soul like yours. Spend your life trying to write this one book. You may never get there. What matters is thatÂ you get closer and closer to it with every book you write. Direct your life so that on your deathbed you can say I never gave up trying.Â Don’t be afraid of failure. And if you fail, look for the door that opens to the place you were looking for all along. Have the courage toÂ write with beauty. Let your prose strainÂ towards poetry. Sometimes there is no other way toÂ say what youÂ need to say. ButÂ remember always theÂ honest beauty of bread and water. Believe in the invisible. Have an unshakeable faith in the existence ofÂ the soul, yours and the person you write for. IfÂ people call your writingÂ religious because of this, so be it. Find others who have made or are on the same journey and cherish them as fellow travelers. Rejoice in their effort as if it were your own. There is no room for envy on this trip.Â Build aÂ harbor to protect your gift, but make sure yourÂ daily catch comes from the open ocean. Find a job that can be friends withÂ and not jealous of your vocation. If you are fortunate enough to make a living from your writing, you’ll need to beÂ even moreÂ attentive toÂ your calling, for its voice is hard to hear amidst theÂ clanging of praise.Â Be lighthearted but don’t forget the seriousness of it all. The tragedy and glory of life is that it can be squandered and loss and waste are real.Â Be humble. Let your vocation be a prayer no one hears but you. Important as yourÂ writing is, it is not your whole purpose. Most of all, be open to love and be grateful for itÂ in whatever form it comes. And if love doesn’t come, love nevertheless. Love, its gladness and its pain,Â willÂ show you whatÂ the world most needs.

Comments (24)

November 27, 2011

Feeding the Soul

Filed under: Soul,Uncategorized,Writing — Francisco Stork @ 2:59 pm

I got an e-mail recently from a seventy-year-old woman. She said, “your writing fed my soul.” I was so touched by her words. I also had this funny sense of both knowing and not knowing what she meant. I hope that we all have had at some point in our lives the sensation of having our soul nourished by a work of fiction. How it happens or when it happens is all kind of magical. Nor, in my experience, is there a particular kind of book that triggers this peculiar satisfaction. I say “peculiar” because unlike eating real food, this food is a funny mixture of contentment and yearning. Paradoxically, it “feeds” by awakening a kind of aspiration that is and is not like hunger. Sometimes I wonder whether an author can consciously write for the reader’s soul. There may be authors out there who can, but they play with fire. I’m sticking to the Zen archer’s humble rule: aim to the side and let the target hit the arrow, if it wants to. And then there is this disturbing question: is there any relationship between writing FOR the soul and writing FROM the soul? That, after all, seems somewhat more within the author’s control. I once wrote a book pretending I had sixty or so days to live. That little exercise in existential visualization took me to a place I’ve never been before. I was, among other things, surprised to find so much humor there. Flannery O’Connor says that every author has a bone to which they return again and again to gnaw and gnaw. The image assumes that we have found our bone or at least know where to look for it. To write from the soul is to gnaw at and be gnawed by the bone of your ultimate concern.You cruelly burden your poor characters with your question and then trail behind them as they struggle for some kind of answer. You’re the gold miner and your characters are your pick and shovel. Nor is the soul purely a place of darkness and dirt. If you’re writing from there you’re still sitting outside in the reception area. Nor does writing from the soul make this endeavor any less a simple task, a craft, the job and duty that must be meekly done. Still, you’re in the bowels digging or in the heights welding. A certain courage is required.

Comments (0)

August 14, 2011

Writer’s Block

Filed under: Uncategorized,Writer's Block,Writing — Francisco Stork @ 4:02 pm

Words come painfully slow. After an hour there is a paragraph that goes nowhere. Whatever it is I am trying to say has no future. It’s not so much a lack of words as a lack of vision. The mind does not accept the goodness of a sentence. Some kind of logic is missing. Or there’s too much logic. After a while I stop. The day’s “failure” makes it that much harder to start the next day. I cannot write because I am depressed. Or, am I depressed because I cannot write? All I can tell you is what I tell myself. Sometimes you need to sit and struggle. Other times you need to wait, with faith if you can muster it. You play it by ear each day. Some days you squeeze whatever you can out of yourself. A paragraph or two. A page is excellent. On other days it is better to surrender gently. Try not to despair. Avoid calling yourself names. You are precious even if you never write another word. Close your eyes and pretend you are a child at play. You are alone in your room on a rainy afternoon. No one is watching. The objective of the game is to have fun. It’s a good way to spend an hour or two. Do you remember when you started writing and you didn’t care about being brilliant or admired? There were no thoughts of publication or perfection. Do you remember when you wrote because you had to? The writing life with its ups and downs, with its green fields and deserts, can teach us many things. It has taught me what it means to be poor in spirit. I have seen the advantages of a pure heart. I have learned to mourn for as long as it is necessary and have doled out gentle mercy to myself. Even when writing is hard or when it doesn’t come there can be gain. In your waiting, depth can grow and courage. And when you write again it will be with humility and boldness. You will gratefully give what you can. The rest is not up to you.