Abstract, Real
I am teaching my son to read, from the same book I taught my daughter to read from. It’s amazing to watch the decoding skills strengthen, to see him making the connections.
I forget, because I’ve been doing it so long, that reading is not necessarily a “natural” skill, and neither is writing. It takes hard work and rewiring the brain a little to learn, and then lots of practice. Certainly it feels natural at this point, but so does riding a bicycle or driving a car.
I’m kind of wondering what will feel natural in another ten years.
For me, the act of writing is a magical one. It is transmuting the world, making sense of things. So much of the world seems senseless and inimical some days; putting a screen over it that makes things make sense is one of the great strengths of the human brain. I have always said the act of creation is transforming the world in some way, and that it’s crucial.
I’ve been reading a lot lately about how language is a virus, how the naming of the thing isn’t the thing itself, and how the abstract of reading/language shuts out direct experience. I am not sure I entirely agree–the act of reading is, for me, a very direct experience. There is a balance between that and the experience Out Here In Meatspace, if you’ll pardon the term. Both are wheels to balance on.
So, in lieu of an actual writing post, I’m actually just a little philosophical this morning. I’m thinking about how I derive so much genuine pleasure and comfort from this abstract thing that is, according to so many people, utterly divorced from “real” experience. I’m depending on writing to help me through a lot these days, from a broken heart to the mechanics of living day to day. It’s never let me down. Still, I examine the underpinnings and the mechanics, because I can’t help myself. I need to know it’s always going to be there.
The answer is always the same: as long as my commitment is there, so are the words. I am the necessary component.
It’s nice to feel necessary.
So, dear fellow wordsmiths: what is writing to you? Do you think it detracts from “experience of the real”? Weigh in, give me your .02. I’m listening.
And that’s another skill, too. *makes funny face*
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Tags: Friday Writing, nattering, Writing (About)
October 9th, 2009 at 10:24 am
Interesting question! For me, writing doesn’t detract from the real. I write fiction, so of course, the characters and events I write about are not real. However, they are real in the sense that they’re authentic (at least I hope so!). If something couldn’t really happen, and isn’t believable, I don’t write it. When I write, I try to stay as “real” as I can.
October 9th, 2009 at 11:42 am
My daughter’s greatest challenge has been reading. At (nearly) 12, she’s still not where I was at age 7. That is so very hard for me as a parent, but she progresses, and she’s so damned smart in her thinking and with her words. Print is an undiscovered country for her, where she still needs a map and a compass and a lot of time.
October 9th, 2009 at 11:45 am
Writing does not detract from the real any more than scent detracts from the flower. I’ve read since I was tiny adult books and would die if I couldn’t read in some form or other.
October 9th, 2009 at 3:43 pm
I think it depends on the type or reader you are. If you read and all you get is the text, then it is a distraction. If you read and are immersed, then it is an expierence in and of itself because it changes you every time you read it.
Doing the writing is a powerful expierence because you get to explore and play. You get to actually change your perspective, which you can’t do in real life. The act of writing is the experience. No one that is not a writer can understand.
October 12th, 2009 at 7:18 am
For me, writing enhances the real. Things that I would normally gloss over (a person’s hair colour, the smell of boxwoods, the intricacies of a knot on a package) become more vivid, sharpened – electrified.
I paid SUPER attention to a woman’s nails the other day. Her cuticles were worn and “fraying” and her nails were black and blue (like she’d hit them with a hammer). Got me going on some wonderful tangents in my mind.
To find out, she is a farrier. Huh. Go figure. And THAT was fascinating to discuss.
October 13th, 2009 at 5:59 am
On objects and words:
for me, my whole life, the object on which I sit is a chair. Locked firm in my brain from the time I first started speaking, then reading and finally writing: I sit on a chair.
For my children, there is a completely different reality. They have all grown up speaking at least two languages. For them – that object is called a chair in English, ein Stuhl in German, un chaise in French and I don’t know what in Latin, Spanish or the other misc languages that might float around the house on any given day.
An object and its name are not a single entity in their world. They distinguish between concepts and objects, labeling each according to the language and vocabulary of the moment.
Perhaps we should just follow the instructions from Humpty Dumpty –
‘When I use a word,’ Humpty Dumpty said in rather a scornful tone, ‘it means just what I choose it to mean – neither more nor less.’
October 13th, 2009 at 2:53 pm
I have a bit of a different metaphor for writing.
For the longest time, I thought I could only write when I was ‘inspired’. Maybe I watched an episode of a TV show, or read a book that really motivated me to write something awesome. I’d sit down to write, and the words would just flow, like a river. I’d sit on my boat and pluck the rocks and shells from the water, and mold a mosaic.
Then I started reading your blog, and I realised that I’d have to write even when I’m sure the words won’t flow, and even when I sit down to write and find out that the won’t. 95 percent of the time, it’s like rowing from island to island on a vast ocean, scavenging the few rocks and shells from each beach. It’s harder and a lot more scary, but just as rewarding; if not more for making something great despite my fears.
I’ve got a silly view towards my own writing; I’m always terrified to write if I’m not totally motivated or totally sure that it’s going to turn out fine. This is substantiated by other aspects of my life, but not with writing. When I create, when I take a chance and go outside my comfort zone my writing is so much better then if I’d just played it safe.
So I guess that mainly writing to me is a chance to grow, to improve myself in not just my writing ability, but who I am as a person. It’s also simply that as an artist, I like to create. The creative process, the final masterpiece, and the praise it gets; I revel in it all. Though of course, my writing is mostly for me, so my estimation of how good it is depends far more on my opinion then my fans (though they certainly count too!).
Writing holds great power for me; it’s an important part of who I am, and I firmly believe that it’s real. Philosophically, it’s hard to arbitrarily decide what’s real and what’s not anyway.