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VOLUME 1 NUMBER 2.5 |
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Thank God for My Day Job IS WRITING REALLY I was listening to an audio book by the writing instructor, Natalie Goldberg in which she playfully explored the possibility that her instructions for free writing would also apply to sex. “Keep your hand moving. Lose control.” Her metaphor started me thinking. If writing really is like sex, perhaps I could channel some of that passion into my writing. The most obvious similarity is that when someone reads our writing, we penetrate their mind with our words. The best writing penetrates fully, and challenges emotions to the bursting point. Readers, like lovers, look around for the best partner, hoping to find one that lifts them into a different mood. Then they curl up, and let the writer’s message fill their hearts and minds. Sex brings us together to make babies and then binds us together to raise them. But that’s as far as nature goes. To create a culture we need to add words. Clearly one of the key ingredients that changed tribes into a civilization was writing. By recording the crops that were being paid in taxes, the ancients were able to build up a social order. The earliest civilizations respected writing so much they carved it into stone, indelibly recording the size of their harvests, their laws of governance, and their stories. You may think that stories are merely frivolous entertainment. But storytellers rule the world. For example, Egyptian Pharaohs gained power by convincing people they were deities. Conveying power through stories is simple. Consider the tailor who killed seven flies in one blow. His story spread throughout the land, but with a twist. People thought he killed seven giants. He became powerful, not because of his skill but because of his story. Power is a widely reputed aphrodisiac, so that’s another connection between sex and writing. Writers woo and excite audiences, whose lust for stories keeps them hypnotized for hours in movie theaters and on living room sofas. Even the language of stories speaks to sexuality. Stories have climaxes. That’s a powerful image. Readers feel relieved and fulfilled by this emotional surge.
But how does all this writing come into existence? It boils down to a simple formula. Writers write. It sounds obvious, and yet many of us sit on the sidelines, like wallflowers at a dance, waiting for writing to happen to us. We know we really should step away from the wall and onto the floor. The gnawing in our stomach tells us that. But the same gnawing also tells us to stay very still. That raises the specter of another similarity between writing and romance: the risk of rejection. Offering our writing makes us feel vulnerable. What if it’s rejected? We’ll be crushed. At the same time we’re dying to expose ourselves. We want other people to be attracted by what they see. But we’re not flashers looking for a quick thrill. We want people to understand us and like us. We want the whole dance. So how does any writer get over the fear that we’ll expose ourselves and they’ll laugh, or worse yet, yawn? One way is to shift focus away from danger. Instead pay attention to your desire. If readers enjoy your words, that means they like you, or at least something you created, which is close to the same thing. The more you focus on pleasing them, the bolder you’ll become. You may complain this metaphor is flawed because writing only sends pleasure in one direction. Writers give pleasure to readers but don’t receive any pleasure in return. If you feel that way, you are missing half the fun. Readers send us all kinds of pleasure. We enjoy praise and requests for our next work. We strive for the payment and acceptance that signals our success. When we flow harmoniously with the reader’s mind, then like a dance, the exchange feels good on both sides. Based on imaging technology, it looks like the pleasure generated by these imaginative stimulations is every bit as “real” to our brain as sensations we experience from our body. Nature has not wasted her good work. Once she concocted brain systems to register pleasure in our body, she reused the same systems to give us pleasure in our imagination. Or perhaps I shouldn’t credit nature for this double usage. It’s one of the magical things about being human. We have figured out a way to pleasure each other through story. These same pleasure circuits even light up when we solve problems. It feels good to think! At the end of Natalie’s conceit she did admit there are differences between the act of sex and the act of writing. But if you’re looking for a profound pleasure that pierces you in lovely places, and also pierces others, creating not just immediate joy but lasting connections, then become an active participant in the sharing of words. It’s part of the glue that connects our culture and lifts us all to a higher plane of existence. I recommend you write with passion. Don’t stop. Lose control.
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