Two Lessons

It’s been a hard week for writing. Don’t get me wrong: lots of writing is happening. But there are so many different projects going on, I struggled to steal a few hours to write a short story. And then, when I finally sat down at my computer, the words wouldn’t come. I wrestled it like Jacob with the angel, eked out 1500 words, decided they were terrible, started again and got 1400…

And I’m back to square one.

“Jacob Wrestling with the Angel,” Alexander Louis Leloir (1865).

But I also think I have sorted out what’s wrong with the story. You see, I had to remind myself of two major lessons this past week…

Go smaller

This is a lesson I’ve been learning from my dive into CanLit. Alice Munro does this incredibly well. A woman goes to meet a man in Stratford, and it’s devastating. A young girl kissed a pilot decades ago, and your heart breaks. They’re plots that loop back upon themselves, layering in backstory and inferences. And these small, mundane tragedies, once magnified, become absolutely epic.

Similarly, I finished Margaret Laurence’s The Stone Angel yesterday. In simplest terms, an old woman flees into the woods and remembers her life.

You guys, I cried so much.

Narrowed focus. Details that catch and tear like fish-hooks. These are stories that dive deeper and closer, spiralling like a Mandelbrot set.

That’s what I want to explore. For now, anyway.

You can only write your stories.

Of course, when the thread of the story snapped, I threw myself into a tailspin. Obviously, the problem was me. My story doesn’t have the gut-wrenching emotion of Keri Hulme. Or the intellectual depth of Theodora Goss. Or the hypnotic quality of Cat Valente. Or the weirdness of Kelly Link, or the sheer storytelling oomph of Kij Johnson, or the beautiful cruelty/cruel beauty of Aimee Bender.

Of course it doesn’t. I’m not those writers.

I’m KT Bryski. Whatever I write has to come from me. In the end, it has to be my voice, my heart, my story.

And I thought: what did I write, before the stress and tension took hold? What did I write before I was afraid? What did I write when no one was watching?

I went back to one of my few pre-Stonecoast short stories: “After the Winds,” in When the Hero Comes Home Vol. II. Guess what I found?

A northern village.

Pseudo-sibling angst.

The yearning for home.

Motifs of breaking free, healing, and finding one’s place.

It was all there. Those are the things that constitute the heart of me. While I’d do some things differently now, it was good to see that, really—I know who I am. I know what matters to me. It’s all there inside: I just need to trust it.

And so I’d add…

Keep Going.

Liz Hand’s words are always applicable.

Go smaller.

Tell your stories.

Keep going.

We got this.

-KT

What I’m Listening to this Week

“Vale Decem” from Doctor Who, because the following line from “The End of Time” popped into my head:

This song is ending, but the story never ends.

This is a transitional time. Some songs are ending, which is painful and exhausting. But the story—the story never ends. Also, add an extra 10 points to this piece for an ethereal countertenor.

Posted on August 7, 2017, in Writing and tagged , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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