JeffKirvin.net

Write what you know. That is a dictum that I had received from my advisor as I started writing a scientific paper. This is a piece of advice that bears well on any other style of writing one tries. As I began writing for WOYP, and as I attempted various expository or fiction works, I realized how little it is that I know.

My love affair with literature began when I was young; no parent or mentor ever had to convince me of the worth of books. If anything, sometimes I faced discouraging remarks as elders asked me to do something besides reading! I am glad to have had library cards from every town or city I lived in; I have sometimes even tried starting a library card collection. Residency requirements killed that dream. A place filled with books seemed the most magical of places; with these credentials, I am amazed I am a doctoral candidate in neuroscience. I feel most suited for a life in a department of history. Although I have had as heavy a reading load as possible, from histories to genre fiction to the so called Western Canon classics to technical literature, it struck me as ironic that I know so little.

Reading, in one narrow sense, is passive. While the mind engages in creating mental picture, it likely avoids the level of detail that can be transcribed to some other person. The reader should not assume this implies a failing on the part of the either the writer or the audience. If the author keeps all the minutiae in his text, it makes for a boring read; the audience does suspend their sense of disbelief so that the flow of words is maintained. I think that often, one wants to avoid recalling so many details; the author may not always want his audience to imagine their own tree, but his. Different styles of work will elicit its proper level of active engagement. Simply, a history will evoke more scrutiny, while a novel encourages suspension of disbelief. When I started writing, to try to tell and show, I realized how much of this active component I have ignored.

The problem is simple: if I were to tell someone a story, where would I begin? What details would I use? Do I even have details? Oh, I have had little problem creating those mental movies; it isn’t a lack of imagination or understanding. If I needed to capture some essence, or even some level of excruciating detail, could I do it? My problem, it turns out, is in the telling. This problem is similar to drawing; I am certain that everyone can create a high level of visual detail in the mind’s eye. But for someone who cannot draw, he would fail to recreate that detail with charcoal and a pad. That is the level of detail I wish I could convey using words.

It may be related to the powers of observation one has. Perhaps for some of us, the nuances of the real world become smeared, averaged, across many viewings. A boy wearing a blue T-shirt with orange shorts may be a blue cotton T with gray whales with ochre colored khaki shorts to a better observer. To a writer, he would have invented a better description. Indeed, that is perhaps the trick; it isn’t just a straight exposition, but a choice of words that can convey a high level of detail without pedantry or clumsiness that escapes me.

It remains trivial to do simple research to get specifics. Look at the tags on a shirt; find a book on weaves and machine looming. Find some time to ask about textiles. So my problem is that I received no talent in congealing the mass of impressions and reality with lyrical, precise, and enjoyable sentences. Fortunately, I’ve realized that writing, as with all things, is a craft; words can be worked, reworked and improved. My word choices may not always be inspired, but I’ll be damned if I can’t begin to tell stories smoothly.

If practice is all that is needed, then I am living in a wonderful time. The proliferation of portable computers has allowed any place to become a workplace. Even more conveniently with portable digital assistants, powerful word and text processing programs are available - and they fit in pants pockets! Tools are important, and whenever the muse appears (mine happen to be Tinkerbell. Shakespeare’s muse was one of the goddesses herself), having a memo “page” ready for these half-formed impressions is crucial. This page substitutes for the paper pad the analog note takers use.

I am quite happy that these various machines let me develop a writing habit. I could have learned the opposite lesson, because I cannot write like Neal Stephenson or Charles Dickens. It would have been simpler to pity myself and stop writing. However, as I continue to write, I have gained a much deeper level of appreciation that being a mere reader did not allow me. It allows me some insight in how writers accomplish what they do; that is, not only are details described, but how intangible things like tone, mood, the bearing of a character, and his feelings and emotions are captured. These details are usually intimated and not declared. Even writing at the pedestrian level as I do lets me notice more technique, sentence construction, detail exposition, and setting atmosphere.

With the sharp, clear images one’s mind forms, it could be the norm that one ignores the difficulties inherent in describing these
details. Having a PDA has expanded the length of time I devote to the craft of writing. I hope that my ability to notice enough salient details and to expouse on them improves with time. I cannot say often enough to how much I owe this little device, the portable digital assistant, in making that happen.