How to Write While the World’s Burning Down
By Margaret Dilloway | July 18, 2018 |
This was a difficult post for me to write. I stopped and started at least five times. I was going to post about something much lighter. Why was this so hard for me to get out?
Because I fear I don’t have a real answer.
The news is full of unrelenting turmoil and bad news. In my social media feeds lately, I’ve seen a ton of writers despairing about the current state of the world.
Many of the sentiments boil down to this:
How can we do something frivolous like write books when what we need right now is concrete action? I’m too depressed to write.
I’m not entirely sure myself how to write while the world seems to be turning into ashes around me. So first, I read some essays. I turned to greats like Toni Morrison. If you haven’t yet, I recommend you read “No Place for Self-Pity, No Room for Fear.” Though it was written in 2015, it is utterly prescient. Here she describes how despots work:
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Select a useful enemy—an “Other”—to convert rage into conflict, even war.
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Limit or erase the imagination that art provides, as well as the critical thinking of scholars and journalists.
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Distract with toys, dreams of loot, and themes of superior religion or defiant national pride that enshrine past hurts and humiliations.
Sound familiar?
It’s important, Morrison points out, to remember other writers from history who wrote under much more difficult situations. Through jail and torture, threatened with death and exile, writers have insisted on making sure their voices are heard.
Vision of the Truth
Next, I read a speech JFK gave at Amherst, honoring Robert Frost and the arts. In part:
We must never forget that art is not a form of propaganda; it is a form of truth… In free society art is not a weapon and it does not belong to the spheres of polemic and ideology. Artists are not engineers of the soul. It may be different elsewhere. But democratic society — in it, the highest duty of the writer, the composer, the artist is to remain true to himself and to let the chips fall where they may. In serving his vision of the truth, the artist best serves his nation.
Best serves his nation. That reminds me of the phrase people used to use to practice typing: Now is the time for all good men to come to the aid of their country.
Now I can try to apply these ideas to my own writing. For me, writing has always had a two-fold purpose: to make me understand my world, and to entertain.
Writing is my way of showing you a different worldview. It’s how I grab you off the street and hold up a magical pair of spectacles to your eyes that puts you into another person’s body. To live another life. To say, “Yes, but have you considered this? And this?”
So if I write with empathy and purpose, if I have a way of seeing that I want to convey, that then becomes my reason for continuing.
This is what we do.
We are here for this.
Here’s a final, inspiring quote from Morrison. She writes: “This is precisely the time when artists go to work. There is no time for despair, no place for self-pity, no need for silence, no room for fear. We speak, we write, we do language. That is how civilizations heal.”
Now is the time for all of us to come to the aid of our country.
I need to write because the world is burning down.
Have you felt paralyzed lately? How have you coped?
[coffee]
Margaret Dilloway is the author of the new middle grade series MOMOTARO: XANDER AND THE LOST ISLAND OF MONSTERS (Disney Hyperion) and three women’s fiction novels. She lives in San Diego with her family and a big Goldendoodle named Gatsby. She teaches creative writing to middle schoolers and does developmental editing.
I’ve had much privilege in my life and the last decade allowed me to see how protected I was when so many others weren’t and, worse yet, never have been. The last two years have been overwhelming in their losses, but I keep fighting the good fight because I know there are so many others who do so out of the need to survive rather than out of choice, as I do. So, in addition to writing, I read the fiction and non-fiction and listen to the podcasts of the voices of those directly in the struggle, those whose very existence is dependent on being heard. So that we can rise up beside them and say, “Not this time.”
If anything, the state of the world has energized me to write, to make a difference. I add “Write” to Padre Pio’s famous advice of: “Pray. Hope. Don’t Worry.” And I often write in church because God is my help. Peace.
Love the flip of that last line, Margaret. Well done.
My wife and I were just talking about this. I was bemoaning how the politics in my work is so out-stripped by this craziness in the real political world. She listened, but then said that in my stories the politics are merely a backdrop, and that my stories are about people – their interactions and emotions. How their lives play out in the light of the politics, or in spite of them.
Her wise observation pairs well with this timely lesson, Margaret. Thanks. Guess it’s time to focus on the work – the interactions and emotions, in the light of or in spite of current politics.
Thank you.
This post is kindling a fire under me. I’m currently working on the biography of a Liberian civilian who survived the nation’s bloody 14-year civil war. He speaks for many otherwise voiceless people.
The social catastrophe that currently threatens to engulf us has changed the way I write. I confess to the grandiosity that has always motivated me to write stories that would make a difference in the world. Now, though, I write without the illusion that somehow I deserve a balanced, kind democracy in which to create my stories. I’ve been soft in some peculiarly North American way, and I need to toughen up to write my stories while so much that I took for granted in the world around me burns down.
Margaret–Two things come to mind.
1. The only area in my place of privilege here in the U.S. of A where the world is burning down is on cable TV and certain areas of social media. To the degree I control them instead of being controlled, I can pursue my own interests, chief among them writing.
2. That said, it’s still not easy, doing what I like in the knowledge of our being in something like an American psycho-babble version of The Darkest Hour.
So, these days I think a certain added responsibility or obligation comes with my privilege as a writer. I should feel a heightened sense of commitment to doing my best, to being a worthy steward of this odd obsession I share with other writers about story and language. Otherwise, I’m not worthy. I unintentionally become part of the process of fakery and misuse of language going on around us.
Thanks for raising an issue important to all writers.
Truth, not propaganda.
Propaganda *narrows* our world, by pointing us away from the problems and the other viewpoints that are the whole picture– the truths the propagandist finds inconvenient.
Art might have a viewpoint, but if the artist is honest what it really does is show us there *is* a viewpoint other than the obvious– and probably how every view in the real world reminds us there are others too.
Art widens our vision; propaganda blinkers it. That and, art gives us the courage or the laughter to keep looking and act on what we see.
The pen may not be mightier than the sword, but it has more reach.
For some, not all, the world is not burning down or up. The world is the world. It was the world when wars savaged men’s souls, yet the world moved on.
We are only temporarily here, our lights, like shooting stars are only for a moment.
We bring our small offerings of hope and peace in our individual worlds, write to illuminate the darkness, and believe in the long ago written truth of Omar Khayyam (1048-1131):
The moving finger writes, and, having writ, moves on: nor all the piety or wit shall lure it back to cancel half a line, Nor all thy tears wash out a word of it..
Omar Khayyam’s world was not burning down, it was a living breathing creation, struggling then as now to be. As Americans we believe we have a voice, and the greatest gift of that voice is to know we don’t share the same viewpoint but we share the same ability to express it, not in fear of ridicule and shame but in the ever present hope of a family that may disagree to agree, and having been bound together by birth, move forward, together. The world will be here after us, we are witnessing a creation go through a growth stage. What will it be? Good question. When we learn to love one another, give more than we receive, and share our humanity with encouragement and love, it will be better. If only for a time.
I deeply appreciate that you wrote this post, Margaret, and that you didn’t delete it. Thank you.
This is exactly the time when we can’t let being overwhelmed about the current political climate, or depression and feelings of hopelessness to paralyze us. “The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing” is just as true today as it has been in the worst eras of history.
Whether we march in protest, become involved in grass roots efforts to promote good, decent candidates for elective office or write to educate or entertain, we can all do something. Positive action, when we’re least inclined, can have a healing effect and allow us to feel we can actually make a difference.
Thank you, Margaret. I’ve had a hard time getting work done in the past two years. In these times, writing mysteries set in Georgian or Victorian England starts to seem less relevant–even self-indulgent–and I keep questioning my own efforts. Not very comfortable to say the least.
I do think that some of what we feel may be caused by the relentless 24-hour news cycle that shouts a fresh outrage at us at every moment. So perhaps tuning some of that out would help. Also, I am reading a book by Gregg Easterbrook called It’s Better Than It Looks: Reasons for Optimism in an Age of Fear. It turns out that humanity has gotten quite a bit right (such as diminishing global poverty, for one).
Your post is so inspiring! I was not familiar with that Toni Morrison essay.
You’ve eased a fret from just yesterday when, floundering in the current political meltdown, I wondered if my WIP, written with a light, humorous touch, was worthy of even existing in such perilous times. However, it does have a magical pair of spectacles that do help me say “Consider this” about how human beings are, can be, and need to be. Many thanks.
I try to think of the present as history; for soon enough, it will be. Just as one remembers where they were during any particular historical event, I will recall my hands on the keyboard, my mind focused on things I have sway, things like my characters and their stories, and my writing as a business.
Tough times indeed. Remember them as fondly as possible, my friends. Tomorrow, today will be gone.
Hugs
Dee
Thank you for this post. And as for JFK’s speech. No truer words were spoken. In light of this, I’m going to share an old favorite that has kept me sane in recent weeks.
Ozymandias
By Percy Bysshe Shelley
I met a traveller from an antique land,
Who said—“Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. . . . Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed;
And on the pedestal, these words appear:
My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings;
Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair!
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal Wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.”
People in the news create false monsters. When it threatens to overwhelm me, when it threatens to interfere with writing, I look for inspiration. I found this from G.K. Chesterton:
Fairy tales are more than true — not because they tell us dragons exist, but because they tell us dragons can be beaten.
Margaret, that’s our job. What could be more important?
Margaret, thanks for writing this post and opening our minds and dialogue about this “burning thing” which haunts all sensitive and creative beings. The responsive posts move me from the excuse Not to write to the Reason to write. And defeat the dragons!
Margaret, thanks for not deleting this post and instead sharing it with us. I needed to *hear* your words. I’ve struggled through my writing not only because of the current state of our country and the world’s affairs, but also because of health issues outside my control right now. You’ve lit a spark here.
My books use storytelling to teach middle schoolers STEM concepts. At first, it was an effort to stake out my own unique niche, but since the 2016 election it’s taken on a new urgency. I write my books in the hope that at least a few kids out there will learn the things they’ll need to clean up the mess we’re leaving them. That’s my response to Trump.
“Now is the time for all of us to come to the aid of our country.”
My country, Canada, does have a Prime Minister who loves to dress up, and goes “Umm” a lot, but otherwise things aren’t that bad.
Margaret, so glad you did not delete this post. And thank you for the JFK and Toni Morrison quotes. I struggle to keep informed, though the process can depress me. But I find going to the keyboard is healing. Though my work is not a polemic that could change the current problems that we face, it can offer a point of view that is granular: we need to love and respect people, reach out to those who struggle, work against hate. The responses today (I LIKED THEM ALL) reveal the power we have as plain old folks and writers, to carry on, work for change, believe in our democracy.
Your post sent chills down my spine. Four years ago I worked on a yet-unpublished novel. The heroine was aboard a ship watching another ship burn with all passengers aboard while around her people were praying in multiple languages. She said, “If all the world was burning, would people pray together?”
My critique group said they didn’t understand the line and suggested I remove it.
I left the line in.
Good for you. I left a critique group several years back because they were stuck on the simple things. The main thing I learned is that not all members of the group wanted to write. Some just wanted the social interaction.. Maybe you grew past the group in some respects.
Thank you so much for this, Margaret! I particular love the words JFK spoke in honor of Robert Frost. They capture how I’ve always seen writing, so in them I find reassurance. Plus, they bring to mind my recent contemplations of times past. I was far too young to truly understand the strife of the 60s, though I know I absorbed images and impressions.
I am hoping if anything good can come from this period with regard to my writing, it may be a better understanding of the daily stress those living through turbulent times must endure. My first novel was set a time of great upheaval, and while I do believe I did it justice, I now realize I would have done more to capture the sense of helplessness, the mix of anger and bewilderment, that rises within individuals during such periods.
At any rate, thanks again, Margaret. The only regret I may have – still pondering the matter – is whether your excellent observations may necessitate a change to my own post topic for the week after next. Though the take is different, I suspect my current draft post (which has also been a start-and-stop struggle) stems from a similar place as your own. I’ll have to consider whether it is too similar or perhaps could be a companion piece exploring similar themes. We shall see! ;)
What I have always done when faced with despair over current events is to write, but not fiction. For years I wrote newspaper columns and one paper let me write pretty much whatever I wanted. When things were wonky in government or society, I could challenge them to change from my tiny little place in the world. I still do on my blog. I don’t know if it ever does any good, but I keep doing it.
I read on some marketing blog that we writers should shy away from the topics of religion and politics in our social media interactions, because we could lose readers who don’t agree with us. That is probably true, but at what cost is silence?
We are in an incredibly tumultuous time, and I appreciate the quotes you shared that can bolster our spirits and give us courage.
Thank you for this, Margaret. I found comfort and renewed purpose for myself in your words.