Francisco's Journal an author discusses the art of writing

January 17, 2009

The Six Perfections of Writing

Filed under: Religion,Uncategorized,Writing — Francisco Stork @ 3:34 pm

Mahayana Buddhism posits six “paramitas” or “perfections” for enlightenment. These paramitas are “perfections” in the sense of guides or principles one should attempt to perfect as much as possible in this life. These are: giving (or generosity), patience, ethical discipline, enthusiastic (or joyful) effort, concentration and wisdom. It occurred to me that these six perfections, with a little twisting and turning, could be applied to writing (just as writing with a little twisting and turning can be seen as a spiritual path). There are as many motivations for writing and explanations as to why people write as there are writers. These six work well for me.

Giving or Generosity. What can you say about this one? Why write if not to give and to give your best? The thing about writing from a spirit of generosity that is not so obvious is that if the spirit of giving is not in your writing, your writing will not be as good as it could be. It will be superficial and you will not give the reader what he or she most desires. And the reader will not give the work his or her full devotion. There is a connection between “why” you write and “how” you write. If giving is the reason why you write you will reach a depth in your writing that will not be reached if you are motivated by anything else other than the desire to give. Writing that is born out of a desire to give is the writing that lasts.

Patience. Patience is typically associated with not getting angry or frustrated or giving up when things are not going your way. So it is with writing. When the words are not coming, wait. When the plot has reached an unsolvable spot, wait. If after a while there is no resolution, you may need to start again. Patience is knowing the day you start a novel that the first draft is a year away and the finished product maybe two years. It means being okay and kind to yourself when after four hours of work you have maybe one more or less salvageable paragraph.

Ethical Discipline. Everyone knows the connection between plain old discipline and writing, but ethical discipline? It’s clear to me that an alcoholic or a drug addict is not going to produce his best work. These addictions take too much time, for one thing. But maybe it is not so clear that honesty or kindness on the part of the author is necessary for good writing. I think that the writer’s integrity is something that is conveyed to the reader in subtle ways. When we read, we ask ourselves explicitly or implicitly, is this author someone I can trust? Is he or she for life or against life? Integrity, which results when our actions reflect our thoughts, seeps into our writing, it informs our work.

Enthusiastic Effort. We don’t get this type of enthusiasm when we write all the time. Some times we need to start writing with just a plain old sense of duty. But sooner or later, enthusiasm comes and when it comes, you better put up your sail. Enthusiastic effort is not a feeling necessarily, it is a conviction that the expression of your talent is something that you need to do for your sake and others. When the wind is not there, we row. Nevertheless, you need to do what you can to row where the wind currents are most likely to be. For me, enthusiasm and joy in writing always come when I stop being so serious and I look at what I am doing as play, when I become child-like again.

Concentration. Concentration happens when you start having fun with your writing the way it happens when a child plays. You realize you have been concentrating not during but later when you look back and realize three hours have just gone by without you realizing it. This absorption is the most enjoyable aspect of writing. Flannery O’Connor says that the writer loses himself or herself for the sake of the work. She means that the writer puts his or her ego aside and puts the characters and the story first so that, for example, brilliant writing that doesn’t add anything to character or story will need to be tossed. When we truly concentrate, our attention is fully directed at the work, we put the work first, we become the characters we are writing about and there is no room for me.

Wisdom. I see wisdom closely associated with the function of the editor. The editor can be an inner editor or another person, a real editor, if we’re lucky enough to have one we trust. Wisdom has to do with decisions about the work, both logical and intuitive. There are places in the work where we can choose to go in different ways. How do we choose? We can use reason, experience, knowledge and good-taste to make our decisions. Sometimes, however, all we have is an intuitive sense that one way is better than another. This is the part of writing that, paradoxically, is both solitary and communal. You need to dig deep initially to see what your heart tells you and then listen carefully to that person who understands your work and whose judgment you respect and trust.

November 12, 2008

The Writer as Actor

Filed under: Marcelo in the Real World,Writing,Young Adult Literature — Francisco Stork @ 8:33 pm

A question that is frequently asked is whether good writing can be taught. Another way of asking the question is: what part of good writing is innate talent (the kind of thing that you either have or you don’t) and what part is craft that can be learned through discipline and application. I think that there are two aspects of writing that seem more like a gift than others. One is the ability to join together apparently disparate ideas or images to form a new one. The other is the ability to temporarily be someone else. In the exercise of this second quality, the writer becomes the character he is writing about in order to speak and think and act like her. The process is not unlike that of an actor who “gets into character”. The actor must access the personality of the person he is portraying. This empathy, this chameleon-like ability to change, to transform into another being, is the gift of the good writer and the secret of great art. Here I think of Cervantes and the dialogues between Sancho and Don Quixote and how the narrator disappears and we have two different persons talking to each other. I imagine Cervantes switching back and forth from Sancho to Don Quixote with schizophrenic delight. The reason why I think that this is the secret of the great novelists is that it is this ability that allows them to create such real characters. How do you create a character that will live in the imagination and life of the readers? You need to become that character as you write. Actually, you need to become every single character that you create, even if that person is a post office clerk that takes up one sentence in your novel, that utters one line.

Wendell is a character in Marcelo in the Real World, who is not a good person. In a recent visit with students at Boston University, I was asked if it had been hard for me to create and write about someone like Wendell. It must have been difficult to imagine someone so evil. Unfortunately, evil characters are not that hard to access. Such is the nature of humankind. Much harder I think is to access someone who is good and pure like Marcelo. It is as if goodness and purity are more removed from our every day life. I mean, not a caricature goody-goody goodness, but a real goodness, the kind of goodness that is believable, that is real. I think that in the process of temporarily becoming a Wendell or a Marcelo in order to write about them and hopefully make them real to the reader, in that process I learned a little more about myself. I also learned that there are some aspects of writing you can practice and learn and get better at and others, well, others you pray will be given to you.

November 6, 2008

Unknown Seeds

Filed under: memories,Upcoming Work,Writing — Francisco Stork @ 8:46 pm

One of the questions that I am asked by people who have read the “advanced review copies” of Marcelo in the Real World is what inspired me to write about a young man like Marcelo. I am not sure that we are ever able to accurately pinpoint the origins of an idea. We carry a seed within us. It came to us when we were a child perhaps. Then one day something happens and the seed presents itself to our consciousness and we water it with attention and we make it grow. When I was a boy growing up in Mexico, I would buy every Sunday a comic book called “Vidas Ilustres” or “Illustrious Lives”. The comic book presented each week the life of a different saint. I collected hundreds of these and the lives of saints filled me with visions of heroism and sacrifice. Was this the seed that forty-five years later turned into the story of a pure, saint-like young man who spends his time reading the holy books? During my senior year at Spring Hill College I lived in a L’Arche community, a Christian community where people with developmental disabilities and “normal” staff lived together with as few barriers between them as possible. Was this the seed that thirty-eight years later turned into the story of a young man diagnosed as having Asperger’s Syndrome? I can try to answer as best I can what inspired me to write Marcelo in the Real World – but my answer in the end will be a guess. The wind blows where it wills. We carry within us seeds placed there by the life we lead. And then one day the seeds present themselves to us gently or forcefully and will us to make them grow with life.

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