Writing with Purpose

I suppose this post's title is an invitation to disaster.

What can I possibly mean by 'writing with purpose'? And shouldn't my blog post be a more or less perfect example of finish and poise?

Perhaps. But also perhaps not.

Surely the attempt to write something meaningful, something true, something really true, is connected not so much to what we say, nor the way we choose to say it, but rather is linked to our innate, deep-seated capacity for truly listening.

I believe we all have this capacity, this potential. It's just a question of learning to unearth it.

Listening is something we usually think of in relation to conversations with others, but in a writing and creative sense, listening is more about reaching into a deeper space, through the interference of our own superficial thoughts and quietly on, and then out, into the great ocean-like unseen, where the universe is not really perceived by sight at all, but by an inner sense (isn't there something amazing--it might even be called synchrony--that 'inner sense' echoes the word innocence? And innocence is a kind of tuning out the superficiality associated with emotional defensiveness. It seems to encourage openness, the readiness to receive.)

This kind of inner sense (or innocent) listening can, and in my experience has and will, bring us into gentle contact with what feels akin to a great reservoir of Being, sheer energy or creative force. And will on condition that we learn to trustingly surrender to its omniscience. I would suggest this experience can be one of the ways we learn a little more about God.

I think I should acknowledge the influence of two great Creatives as their work has helped me to more successfully apprehend this awareness. I think if you'll read their work, you'll see what I mean.

The writers (and their superb books) are:

Dorothea Brande (author of Becoming a Writer)

Julia Cameron (author of The Artist's Way)

So... writing with purpose? It's all about learning to listen.

 

Creativity equals vulnerability and energy...

After commiting to share musings on the creative process, I decided it might really help if I took a bit of time to organise myself first, or at least brainstorm a few things I felt able to get my teeth into.  I came up with a fairly eclectic list that ranges from discussing elements of narrative craft, such as plot and character, to contemplations on the Golden Mean, to confidence, synchronicity, and purpose in the face of death... Not sure at this stage how this grand plan will pan out.  But each of these ideas seemed important.  So I'll do my best to offer my two pennies on them.

Also, I don't really want this to become a Writers Only column; I really believe that principles of creativity are transferable.  And, again, this isn't limiting us to 'conventional' artistry: being human is to be creative. Every time we're kind to someone, we build something a little more beautiful.

Hopefully, you'll be able to substitute 'writing' for anything that happens to be more within your circle of interesting.

I want to begin with a pretty basic question:

What is writing?

This makes me think of an early line in one of my favourite films, Dead Poets Society, in which a stuffy handbook reduces poetry to potential passionless exercises in analysis.

Don't get me wrong.  There's a place for such approaches, and without a healthy interest in analysis so much understanding can be missed.  But writing, like living, demands our passion--our personal commitment--the courage to own an opinion, an energised view.

Creativity can be analysed and debated, but to really to enrich others, I have to live with my heart wide open.  Which of course is fraught with emotional danger.  But that's the deal if our creations are to really live.

And the price of life is vulnerability.  As Robert Frost is attributed with saying: 'No tears in the writer, no tears in the reader.'

Writing--like any act of creation--means understanding that we are engaged in capturing and sharing energy. Our energy.  And that we are doing so for the sake of others.  Little wonder it both hurts and exhilarates...