Secret Shadows and House Guests

Jump to Comments

Yesterday I read Anne Lamott’s book, Bird by Bird. Anne Lamott is irreverent, quirky, politically incorrect, and painfully honest, and I love reading her books for that very reason. I cherish every scornful jab and self-deprecating joke, I commiserate with her cynicism, and her angst. I can relate to the way she feels about some people, and love that she says in her books what I often feel, but am afraid to admit in larger social circles.

She’s also pretty smart when it comes to writing advice. In my own busy life, the only genuine writing outlet that I can pursue with any amount of frequency is here on my blog, excepting of course songwriting, which is it’s own unique animal. Of course, if you’ve read my blog for any length of time, you’re aware of the fact that I am a hit-and-run blogger. I tend to write long existential essays about life and all it’s complications, and then that pretty much drains me for weeks or months, and you won’t see me around again for quite a while. I tend to get sidetracked by life.

It’s not that I don’t love writing, it’s more that I’m starting to realize that writing is a difficult friend; it is a house guest whom I can’t decide if I want to stay or want to kick out. It’s the kind of friend who you know will commiserate with everything you are, and will understand your deepest, darkest secrets and desires. It feels for your soul; unfortunately, it also won’t leave without taking all those secrets and angst with it. Writing knows the truth about us, sometimes in ways we can’t even consciously understand. It can dig deeper than our courteous facades, and find out what’s going on beneath the surface. I know that when I invest in time writing, it will both encourage me in who I am, and, at the same time, demands my soul from me.

Sometimes it reveals great truth to me about life, and I love it then. Other times, it opens up an old wound or finds a darkness I didn’t know was there; and then I feel uncomfortable and restless to leave. But that’s the risk you take when you interact with writing. It’s unpredictable, a restless wind that blows where it will. For those of us who are driven to write, we know that writing is a friend that you can’t politely ask to leave. And the thing you begin to realize over time, is that once it’s in the door, it never leaves. When it comes to your home, it sets up camp, and won’t give you peace until you feed it and give it something of substance.

It is the greatest difficulty as an artist; knowing that no matter how I feel about my art and writing, and especially song-writing for me, this little bug is there in the back of my mind, saying “feed me, feed me”. It’s frustrating, because it’s the most wonderful collaborator, and can yield a great harvest of find truth; but even when it’s not inspired, it still wants and desires. It can use up hours of my life without giving me anything in return.

And yet I know it is what I’ve got to do as an artist. And I know it’s what God has created me to do. And thankfully there are other artists out there who have their own artistic house guests in their subconscious that also desire interaction and attention. It’s how all of us artists are, and it’s why we get moody sometimes.

Anyway, just some fleeting thoughts on my mind since reading Bird by Bird. In some ways, I’m just reiterating what Anne Lamott said in her book. But I think (and Anne Lamott hit on this) that reiteration is the way we humans come to understand things, by repetition and example. It helps us to feel like we’re hitting upon some truth greater than ourselves, that other people are in some way connected to the greater whole. In the C.S. Lewis biopic Shadowlands, a character remarks that “We read to know we’re not alone”. I think this is very true. I think for me, and I am very sure for others as well, we write to know we’re not alone. When I write, I participate in a great piece of art, that I intrinsically know is being worked on by thousands of unseen minds the world over. It’s really rather encouraging.

I guess I’ll keep my writing house guest, at least until I go crazy. All artists and writers do eventually, you know.

3 Comments

Filed under Uncategorized