At the Hooks and Lines workshop on creative non-fiction, we were tasked with writing imaginatively about writing itself. I was admittedly somewhat triggered by the meta-ness of this topic, no fault of the excellent presenter, but rather an echo from my turbulent academic past where rhetoric and composition people fancied themselves in opposition to literature people, a battle I never understood. Once I got past my initial contrariness to the topic, I discovered I had quite a few opinions about being a writer.
Several of the readings from the workshop showed writers who were, at best, ambivalent about their craft, and, when we began writing, I found out I was just as ambivalent. The truth about writing is it’s often more fun when it’s done, often better in the remembering than the action. For me, writing is much like my family’s trip to snorkel at a rocky reef in the Florida Keys—exciting, electric, eerie—until we got back on the boat and it began to sink, straight down to the skeptical eels lurking beneath and five miles off shore. After a lot of bellowing and bailing, we got the boat back on plane, shedding the excess water. Soon, we were casually lunching and laughing while cruising. But what we all remember best is the spice that almost sinking added to the trip. Maybe that’s what draws me to writing—the potential for disaster as well as for insight.
I often joke that Walt Whitman is my literary crush, even if I, most likely, wouldn’t have been his type while he was physically manifested. During the Civil War, Whitman labored long hours at soldiers’ bedsides, penning their letters home as they often lay dying. He hauled water, sponged foreheads, and listened, his prodigious intellect and heart focused on those men. As he wrote their letters, he also composed their poetic dirges, ensuring they would not be forgotten by us as well. Whitman impacted both present and future time. Only about five of those letters remain with one soldier saying, “I have this letter [from me] written by a friend (“In Whitman’s Hand”).
After our workshop, I lingered with another writer who feels she is guided by spiritual mentors. We talked about writing and why we do it. She said, “I write so that others like me won’t feel alone.”
And that made me think—
Maybe, just maybe, we are all just writing each other’s letters home.
“In Whitman’s Hand.” Walt Whitman Archive, 2023, In Whitman’s Hand – Letters Written for Soldiers – The Walt Whitman Archive
I love how you braided together these different threads: the family trip, Whitman’s letters home, workshop conversations! You may be ambivalent about writing, but your writing is anything but: it’s clear, concise, and compelling. Also, I totally get that ambivalence. I’ve struggled with ideas about writing and writers and what it means to me to be successful as a writer and whether I want to be a serious writer or a writer having fun…it’s funny how many writers have similar struggles. Thank you for sharing your writing!
Thanks for leading the excellent workshop that encouraged the braiding and inspired me! I may be ambivalent about writing, but it seems to always pursue me. Maybe we are all just running from our muses and using words to keep them at bay.