Fictionalized
19 June 2011 06:40 AM Categories: Writing prompts | On writing
I’ve become accustomed to writing in bursts at 4:30 in the morning, giving the quick impression, the fast take. The rest of my time lately has been spent in household tasks and I tell myself this is fine, really it's fine, at least I have something to show for it, some signs that yes, I can write. Maybe I’m not meant to write drawn out stories. Maybe these bursts are my thing. Maybe it’s time to accept the fact that, like most writers, I’m just going to have to plug along without ever selling or really publishing a goddamned thing.
Why is it so important to have thousands of readers? What is it about the mind meld process of reading someone else’s words? Is this a power trip, me wanting to insert a bit of me into you? What do I expect from this process? I am trying to let go of the shoulds, the idea that I should be writing one thing or another, that I need to please everyone in my life, that I should ignore my core in order to satisfy what I think other people want from me.
I don’t want to write for the masses. I have no desire to do the marketing dance, to write stories that will fly off of bookstore shelves (it’s good to not have desires for impossible things anyway). In order to please myself I probably need to write more, but, as with everything else, I have a hard time separating me out from the rest of it. I need to be disciplined, to push beyond the ease of four or five paragraphs. But what to write about that will please me, will keep my attention through self-doubt and difficulty?
My past is no longer up for being detailed. Leave me alone, it tells me. Make me into something else, please. Fictionalize me. In these conversations, I have to talk back. Then, past, why do you insist on historical accuracy? When I escape you in words, why do you hang over my shoulder and correct my “facts”? The past is fading, it no longer speaks in full sentences, but still, it can correct with a look. I parade it out in therapy sessions and crying jags, give it its due so that it will dissipate or return to the files in my mind, the places I will refer to when I need a situation, a fight, a season of loneliness and booze.
Still. I turn to the rest of you. I borrow your sentences, I watch the sunset filtered through filmy blinds. I see your lives reflected in mantel mirrors. Sooner or later, you will show up in my words, barely disguised. I promise to treat you with kindness, with affection, with acknowledgment for your strengths and flaws. So please talk to me, will you? Give me material, give me conversation. Don’t leave me alone by the side of the road, wordless, my head resting in my hands.
From the prompt "What I know about writing."
I'm posting every messy Round Robin prompt, a prompt a day until the RR ends. Unless I tell you otherwise, this is the original 12-minute prompt edited only for clarity and typos. This is the final prompt of this session. The next one starts up some time in July. The boy is home and campless for the next couple of weeks, so I'm not sure what my writing time will be like.
Image by Ben Fredericson (xjrolokix).
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