Finding Intensity in Writing and in Life
Walking is part of my writing routine. The act of placing one foot in front of another somehow allows my mind to drift. When walking, I can dream up story threads that elude me when I’m sitting in front of a desk.
I often take a camera with me. You may have seen some of the photographs on here or other social media sites. This too, is part of my preparation for writing. I’m not naturally a visually-minded person. Photography helps me to see. Things I notice while carrying a camera often end up in the novels.
But recently I’ve been trying something new. As well as the camera I’ve taken an audio recorder on my walks. This started off as a podcasting experiment. I do naturally notice sounds. But carrying the recorder has enhanced that focus.
It is said that Tolstoy experienced the world with an unusual intensity. This manifested itself in negative and positive aspects of his life. You can certainly see it in his writing. I have no doubt that he was born with that kind of mind. But my guess is he also developed it through the practice of being a novelist. Intensity of experience is one of the gifts that writing can bestow.
Yesterday, I found myself walking down a track into a valley. A fine rain was drifting through the air. I could feel it on my face and arms. There were no people anywhere in sight or within hearing. I’d been walking for some time and my senses were becoming attuned to the quiet of the natural environment.
A dragonfly zipped out across the path and started to zigzag, coming very close then moving away, hunting for smaller insects. I’d never seen such a large dragonfly. It jagged close to my head and I heard the clatter of its wings. It was green and black, iridescent and metallic.
Watching it, brought to mind a remarkable and very wonderful piece of writing by Graham Joyce: ‘A Perfect Day and the Shocking Clarity of Cancer’. Please do read it, if you haven’t yet. For me, it even beats Tolstoy in its intensity and insight.
Writing brings its ups and downs. It doesn’t earn a lot of money. Just enough to justify continuing with it. But I never forget that what I do is a great privilege. I’m constantly grateful to my readers and my publisher. Writing means that I can indulge in thinking and daydreaming and walking and looking and listening and experiencing the world with as much clarity and intensity as I can muster, trying to emulate my literary heroes.
The process of writing fiction changes people. Its gifts are clarity, intensity, insight, emotion and more beyond. I think that’s why so many people press on with it, despite the inevitable rejections and heartache. I’ve written five complete novels that were never published. They were never good enough. But I don’t regret any of them. Writing is never...
The complete article can be found here: https://www.facebook.com/gaslitempire...
I often take a camera with me. You may have seen some of the photographs on here or other social media sites. This too, is part of my preparation for writing. I’m not naturally a visually-minded person. Photography helps me to see. Things I notice while carrying a camera often end up in the novels.
But recently I’ve been trying something new. As well as the camera I’ve taken an audio recorder on my walks. This started off as a podcasting experiment. I do naturally notice sounds. But carrying the recorder has enhanced that focus.
It is said that Tolstoy experienced the world with an unusual intensity. This manifested itself in negative and positive aspects of his life. You can certainly see it in his writing. I have no doubt that he was born with that kind of mind. But my guess is he also developed it through the practice of being a novelist. Intensity of experience is one of the gifts that writing can bestow.
Yesterday, I found myself walking down a track into a valley. A fine rain was drifting through the air. I could feel it on my face and arms. There were no people anywhere in sight or within hearing. I’d been walking for some time and my senses were becoming attuned to the quiet of the natural environment.
A dragonfly zipped out across the path and started to zigzag, coming very close then moving away, hunting for smaller insects. I’d never seen such a large dragonfly. It jagged close to my head and I heard the clatter of its wings. It was green and black, iridescent and metallic.
Watching it, brought to mind a remarkable and very wonderful piece of writing by Graham Joyce: ‘A Perfect Day and the Shocking Clarity of Cancer’. Please do read it, if you haven’t yet. For me, it even beats Tolstoy in its intensity and insight.
Writing brings its ups and downs. It doesn’t earn a lot of money. Just enough to justify continuing with it. But I never forget that what I do is a great privilege. I’m constantly grateful to my readers and my publisher. Writing means that I can indulge in thinking and daydreaming and walking and looking and listening and experiencing the world with as much clarity and intensity as I can muster, trying to emulate my literary heroes.
The process of writing fiction changes people. Its gifts are clarity, intensity, insight, emotion and more beyond. I think that’s why so many people press on with it, despite the inevitable rejections and heartache. I’ve written five complete novels that were never published. They were never good enough. But I don’t regret any of them. Writing is never...
The complete article can be found here: https://www.facebook.com/gaslitempire...
No comments have been added yet.
