An open red rose, illuminated by morning sun | photo by Karen Miedrich-Luo
|
If truth be told, I wanted to unfriend many people screaming
from across a great chasm, recently. At least plug my ears? I am a writer and words
mean so very much to me, especially truth and what we do with it. Stuck in an
ivory tower, supported by books and words and images, I need those people
outside this narrow tower. Even if we don’t agree.
I need community.
As a writer, I need community not only to critique my words
and sentences and ideas. I need input because when I air my messy thoughts,
then listen to other opinions, I gain more than learning where my mistakes are.
One Saturday, last Fall, I attended writing craft
workshops at two different venues. The morning session comprised of a group of
local writers who meet once a month to share their work and offer constructive
criticism. They are self-defined as Christian, though their writing may or may
not be considered spiritual. The second seminar was a public gathering of
people who paid for instruction in the craft of spiritual memoir.
The morning session began with prayer, scripture,
well-chosen hymns that highlighted “story.” It was followed by a reading from A
Light So Lovely by Sarah Arthur, about Madeliene L’Engle and her Christian
faith. The group then discussed an essay by Flannery O’Connor (On the Novel and Belief) which laments
the modernist tendency to subdue reference to active Christian faith, as if
faith were something to be ashamed of. Afterward, we were asked to think about
our writing goals, our frustrations, or simply comment on our current works in
progress. The group prayed for me and my concerns and I left early.
Across town, the second group gathered. It was double the
size and all were strangers to one another and the instructor. On the board she
wrote the word Spiritual and the word Memoir. She then asked the class to
define “spiritual” and I, still in a reflective frame of mind, decided to
listen and observe.
Perhaps lulled by the congeniality and comraderie of the
morning session, it simply never occurred to me that a definition of
“spiritual” would not include God, or Spirit, or Soul, or belief, or religion.
Those words eventually found their way onto the board by the teacher, after
pausing for further comments. The communal words were: energy, intuition,
being, awareness, universe, vibe, nature, elements, consciousness, inner
dialogue. The words I had been thinking, like incorporeal, ineffable, sacred,
or holy, could not be expressed because there was no context for these ideas
outside of deity.
I learned a lot from the instructor about craft and I heard
many stories that expanded my worldview. And though holding those other ideas
before me managed to create more space and new ideas, I did not find community.
I need more than someone appreciating or critiquing my words
and ideas. I need community to stretch me beyond high and lofty sentences and
challenge me to enter them, ask the hard questions: What am I trying to say with them? Why are
these ideas important? What do they mean, to me? Why do I feel compelled to
share them? What is at stake? What is the ineffable and sacred thing I need to
express? Despite my fear of conflict and opposition, I need to listen to
contrary voices. I need people to spot the holes in my logic and help me see a
different perspective, one that is not my own. But I also need community that
recognizes where my creative source originates.
Ideas are often likened to fruit and fruit trees need
pruning. We’ve had a stressful summer, a very hot one, without much rain. We
watered our lawn religiously and our stand of pecans, cypress, oaks, and citrus
seemed well. Then one day, a perfectly healthy, very large Pecan branch sheared
right off from the weight of its massive green Pecan clusters. Even the smaller
branches were loaded with them such that lifting the smallest branch weighed as
much as a large bowling ball. I am familiar with pruning dead branches, but not
healthy ones. The preponderance of fruit, ripening and growing, was too much
for the tree. It is important to shed some of that fruit, to shave off even
healthy-looking fruit to spare the whole tree the trauma of self-sacrifice. But
I speak again of words. I must look at the whole tree.
I need community.
Community helps me see what I truly need to write. Community
shows me how to prune away the good ideas I have for other things that are
sucking away my ultimate goals. While following the Kavanaugh
hearings, I got side-tracked and was so tempted to enter the fray, stand on my
soapbox, and levy my vision of truth. I want my voice to count and to hopefully
have an impact on society. But a few close friends helped me step back and
consider those competing ideas. As I wrestled with my intentions, I realized
that I do not want to write about policy or deeply held political ideas.
My longtime goal is to be a peacemaker, a bridge, a conduit
of encouragement that crosses barriers. That is not to say I do not hold
opinions, nor that I cannot voice them at the ballot box, or even online. But that is not
currently my goal as a writer. I need to prune away the obvious conflicts, the ego, the largest immediate fruit, to
protect the health of my tree and bear fruit for a different purpose.
(This post originally appeared at Write/Create and is no longer available.)