Sentence Construction, Ctd

A reader reacts to my post on writing a sentence, and we engage in a bit of back and forth:

If I ever dig out from my self-inflicted condition of clutter-itis, and actually attain a measure of clarity in both space and time in my residence, I am going to have that post painted across one entire wall of my office.

Seriously.

Period.

Perhaps, in the interim, I will make a few refrigerator magnets from key phrases (fortunately my “front” door is steel and thus a lovely repository of inspirational messages before I leave in the morning.)

Or, perhaps, I will frame certain phrases and thoughts, and pepper them around my office to serve as both muses and mentors.

I must grab these thoughts and hold them tight.

I must grudgingly accept some, and whole-heartedly embrace others.

Would that everything I read was written the way you wrote that post.  But, I am a particular and rare-ish audience.  The mass market crowd will inevitably demand the occasional, or perhaps frequent, short declarative sentence.  But I hope you keep writing the way you do, with Deb as social conscience and compassionate guide, because more of the world needs to see what language can do. Let that unusual twist of phrase stir some trembling neuron…. Not the neurons that are following the plot, but that other area, where the pure intellect resides and appreciates, dare I say it, art for art’s sake.

More on this later.

Oh drat.  I just realized that I said “period” and then I rambled on anyway.

I’m incorrigible.

Oh my.  I feel … very … buttery.

That.
Is my job.

And you know that’s true too, right?  The reader had darn well better express some sincere appreciation from time to time.

I dunno.  Does the true writer HAVE TO WRITE, regardless of the reaction of the audience?  Or does the true writer have to have an audience reaction in order to understand how to improve the writing to the point where the audience shows a positive reaction?  Or is any reaction, any acknowledgement of the writer’s mere existence, enough?  Is it the act of putting words on paper medium, or the hormones released at the very thought of having intellectually stimulated some other creature in this alleged universe of ours?

I think a writer has to write, but most writers, like most humans, need to feel valued and that valuation can take the form of recognition, remuneration, simple response or any of a number of other “re” words. Whether or not you need the audience to like you, or what you wrote, is entirely up to the writer.  I know lots of people who write just to provoke and they seem to enjoy being unliked. But they HATE being ignored.

There is something different, though, about your angle on improvement.  Wanting to write a successful book appears, I’m suddenly realizing, to be a different animal altogether.  It’s not blogging, it’s not correspondence, it’s not journaling or educating or critiquing.  And now I’m starting to ponder all those other facets.

But wanting a reaction in order to improve how the reader experiences the writing.  That’s  …why.. that’s awfully nice of you, Hue.

And it goes beyond just wanting a one-time stimulation. It’s .. it’s wanting to develop a relationship, yes?  Even if only for the course of that one book. But, one hopes, throughout the writing of many more.  But it’s an engagement at any rate.  Not a performance.

All that said, I did have a friend who would write pages upon pages of what amounted to diary entries.  And then she would take them out of her …hold on to your hat…. typewriter….

and tear them up.

I was flabbergasted when she told me this.  I admit, I’m a little too fond of my own writing, but there’s just something heartbreaking about expressing yourself with the written word and then destroying it.  Expressing yourself with the intention of destroying it.  I dunno. Maybe there’s an official therapy based on that. But if I take the time to write it down, I can’t see wasting it by obliterating the effort.

Of course I have a counter.  I have looked back on something I wrote a long time ago and HATED it.  But I only destroyed such a thing once and I’ve regretted it ever since.

At the very least I should have just edited it to be less objectionable.

Oh, they hate being ignored.  That, in fact, is how I treated ruggies back in the day – erase the damage, don’t say a thing.  I ordered the aides not to say a thing, just do the necessary.  Ruggies HATED the lack of attention, and would disappear quickly.

Yes, a relationship; perhaps not the nicest of relationships.  I recall reading somewhere that someone said writing a novel consisted of withholding important information from the reader, and that is certainly true from those two and a half novels Deb & I worked on – anything from major characters to just small little character traits that turn out to be a fulcrum of a novel.  So the relationship is possibly tempestuous, devious, and no doubt a little manipulative at one level – but entirely honest at another.

But all writing has an audience – at least of the writer themselves.  Themself?  But a relationship with oneself is not usually exciting; so we write a letter to our cousin, another letter to the editor of the newspaper, then we step off the curb and try to write for some larger audience, convey ideas and relationships between ideas and then we stumble into the question of Why Read Stories (which I will someday write about on the blog) and how that applies to the would-be storyteller, and that has to be dealt with … or not.  The natural storyteller probably just knows the answer, or doesn’t need it; but I am not natural, and ask all those oddball questions.

Destroying her output .. .did she say why?  Perhaps the output reflected some inner daemon she was trying to excise, and this was the procedure – capture it on paper, burn the paper.

Hold yer breath, lady, or it’ll get right back in ya.