Learning to Write Through Grief
By Diana Giovinazzo | May 26, 2021 |
This past year has brought us many reasons to grieve. During the course of the pandemic, approximately 590,000 people died from covid only. In addition to that, many of us experienced loss from other things like Alzheimer’s, cardiac arrests, accidents, and cancer. Grief has become a part of our daily lives but what do we do when grief interferes with our writing?
Like many writers, the simple act of writing is a therapy for me in and of itself. It was the place I turned to escape reality. Through writing, I am able to make sense of the world around me. Where I can process emotions and thoughts I wouldn’t otherwise be able to comprehend without a pen in my hand.
Not long before we went into lockdown my best friend of more than twenty years was diagnosed with cancer. In 2019 we threw a big Christmas party, where we laughed about the ridiculous cast she had to have over her face during radiation, we exchanged bracelets, and she told me they thought they found a second tumor, causing her surgery to be delayed. I responded that the radiologist was just being paranoid — it was probably nothing.
I was wrong.
A little over a year later I was enjoying my first tentative steps back out of quarantine by going to get a haircut before starting on my edits for my second book, “Antoinette’s Sister.” On my way home, I listened to Google’s cold voice relay a text from my friend, informing me there were more tumors, one of which was inoperable. She only had months left and she was sorry to tell me via text. It was as Joan Didion said, Life changes in an ordinary instant.
Grief is the ultimate thief of creativity. As artists, we have a duty to observe and experience those poignant moments so we can better portray them in our art. But experiencing them isn’t always conducive to our deadlines. Grief is different than your run-of-the-mill writer’s block. There is the desire to write, the words are there ready to be put on paper but the energy to put pen to paper is lacking. The normal remedies of researching, journaling or even reading no longer work.
The first week after getting my edits and dealing with the fresh wounds of my best friend’s diagnosis was a struggle. Sitting down at the keyboard I realized the very thing that had been a refuge didn’t make any sense. I wanted to write, but all my drive to be creative was sucked out of me. I couldn’t comprehend the words that I had written a few months prior.
We all know about the five stages of grief — anger, depression, bargaining, acceptance, and denial. They are said so frequently they border on cliché, meaningless until we give ourselves the opportunity to process them. There is a point where you have to set the pen down and do those little things that bring you joy — sometimes stepping away altogether.
Even though we like to think of ourselves as artists, we are still a part of a system that expects us to keep going, that taking a break is tantamount to giving up. It’s in stepping back that our minds can focus and even find some healing. It’s important to remember that even when we aren’t in the midst of writing we are still doing the other tasks required to create. We observe; we feel; we rest.
Eventually, the words return. Bit by bit, sentence by sentence. The deadlines begin to feel like a normalcy we can cling to, and in some ways, even a bit comforting. The wounds begin to fade and the creativity returns because in the end, as they say, time (and patience) heals everything. Even grief.
Has grief affected your writing? How were you able to move past it?
Diana Giovinazzo is the co-creator of Wine, Women and Words, a weekly literary podcast featuring interviews with authors over a glass of wine. Her debut novel, THE WOMAN IN RED, released in 2020, and her second novel, ANTOINETTE’S SISTER, released in 2022. You can find her in the Los Angeles area with her menagerie and husband.
What a beautiful and moving post, Diana. I’m so sorry about your friend. My family and I have been fortunate during this past year to have stayed healthy and connected to one another for emotional support. But I have been carrying around a heaviness in my heart for what is going on in the world. Many days, I’ve had to give in to it and really feel it, which is incapacitating. I’m learning that I need to be stopped in my tracks, though, to feel this grief. I need to not look away, because at the end of the day, this is why I write. To explore what it means to be human. Grief, and coming though to the other side of grief, is a powerful part of that. Thank for this.
Diana, I’m very sorry about your friend. Thank you for having the courage to write this piece. I found it comforting to hear someone say it’s OK to have a break from writing when you need too, and that it doesn’t mean you’re giving up. I’m glad the words and energy came back to you.
Diana, your words hit me right where I am. I have so much grief and my heart has no more room for sorrow. Plus I am writing a nonfiction memoir about my work in a trauma hospital. It is hard. Some days impossible. And then I got a request for my book proposal. I appreciate your words and send thoughts of comfort to you. Grief is a wound beyond compare.
{{{ ❤️ }}}
Becky, you are so right about brief being a wound beyond compare. When one is slammed with many losses, the wound never heals. I’ve had to just figure out how to deal with it on a daily basis. Write when I can, and when I can’t, I do something else that is personally satisfying, like coloring or painting.
I’m so sorry to hear about your friend. Your post is particularly timely to me right now, and I’m grateful for your decision to share this. My mom died of cancer in mid-March, and then a long-time friend died of cancer in mid-April. My mom was sick with a particularly aggressive cancer for 26 months before she died. People with it (cholangiocarcinoma) don’t tend to live as long as she did, and I try to find comfort in the fact that she lived longer than most do with this cancer. But we were very close, so it still hurts.
Some days just absolutely suck in a way I can’t describe. Words feel like they’re slipping through my fingers, like I can’t hold on to them. My greatest solace has been reading. Lots and lots of reading. I was reaching the end of editing my novel when my mom died. I have 60 pages left. Some days, writing even a single sentence has been too much for me. Since my mom died, I’ve only managed to edit 8,000 words of my novel. But my grief is also complicated by bipolar, so that’s not exactly a bonus.
Whenever I’m happy, I make lists of the things I’m doing. That way, when depressive episodes hit, I can go through the list and watch particular TV shows, go for walks, listen to particular music, etc. Make sure I do the things on the list. It helps with grief too. A lot.
Thanks again for this. May we both have strength and find peace.
Diana, thank you for this timely post, and may I offer my deepest condolences on the loss of your friend.
My twin sister died unexpectedly at the beginning of the year and I’ve never felt so lost and alone. These months have floated by, with me on the outside looking in, a non-participant unable to find the joy in life anymore, a raison d’être.
I’ve written letters to her on a private blog I started when my mom passed away a few years ago (another unexpected loss which hit pretty hard), but even writing on that has been hit-and-miss.
I’ve sought counseling, am on medication, have attended a grief group (six weeks of excruciating feelings about everyone’s respective losses), and sometimes wonder if I’ll ever get through it. I certainly haven’t felt creative. Only stuck.
They say “Time heals all wounds,” so I googled the origin of the phrase to see exactly who ‘They’ was/were in order to attribute it to its rightful speaker (it may be first attributed to the Greek poet Menander, who lived around 300 B.C. and said, “Time is the healer of all necessary evils.” Geoffrey Chaucer’s poem, Troilus and Criseyde, written in the 1380s contains the phrase: “As tyme hem hurt, a tyme doth hem cure.”).
I eagerly await the ‘tyme doth hem cure’ part.
Curious as to how long that tyme may be, I did some further research: for most people, by 18 months post-loss, symptoms of acute grief — listlessness, pervasive sadness, lack of pleasure in life, anger, nightmares, insomnia, yearning, numbness, etc. — have generally greatly lessened in severity.
That’s good to know. I had been told that I should be over this by now.
Thanks again.
Don’t ever let anyone tell you when you should be done grieving. Grief doesn’t have a timetable. And I personally feel like grief is a gift of love to those we’ve lost. It’s the one way we can demonstrate to the world how much we still love those who are no longer here. There is a beauty to grief, once it isn’t so overwhelming. Be patient and it does get better. Big hug to you…
Mike, (hugs). I’m so sorry for your losses, a mom and a twin. Your words resonate with me as I lost my husband and mom to cancer within 11 months of each other. Grief is a terrible journey, and it’s been 4 years and 3 years respectively. Even when many good days string together and you believe you are moving forward the smallest things trigger precious memories that cause you to feel like you are back at the beginning. You’re not. The days between tears get better, the memories become less painful, often joyful as awareness of how lucky to have had their presence even if the time seems too short.
Mike, take care of you. Counseling, meds, grief groups are all great assists.
As for the writing, do what you can, and only when you are able. I realize now I attempted to push forward into writing and realize ‘the emotion’ was not there. My protagonist couldn’t feel because I couldn’t bear to dig into that personal abyss of pain. It is only now I’m seeing how flat my writing had become. The stories will become better, richer and more textured because of all we have lived through these past few years.
Blessings and hope to you,
Mike.
Thank you, Lara and Deborah, for your kind words of support. They brought tears to my eyes. Good tears. This is why I love the WU and writing community so much. Hugs to you both. ❤️
Diana, I am sorry for the loss of your friend—those hollows are profound. So many souls moving on this past year, some of whom I’ve known well.
This week, the death of my sister’s best friend (and my friend too), and the death of a man who my girlfriend has dived with at the Monterey Aquarium for 25 years. And that is just this week.
My writing motivation has been cold dough that won’t rise. But perhaps in time…
(Hugs)
There are many things to grieve. Some loses are not of others but of pieces of ourselves. I suspect we all have felt that during the pandemic lockdown.
I have. It’s the loss of in-person contact with friends and colleagues. It’s the missing discoveries to be found in a visited city. It’s the awareness of age that comes when I am too aware of the clock. It’s depressing and depression is the enemy of everything, most especially writing.
On the other hand, I’ve gained perspective on my stories. I’ve taken the measure of what matters in them, and what does not. I’ve newly realized that story events are the stuff that matters. Every word needs to count and words that don’t need to go.
I may not be achieving supersonic speed in my writing but I am appreciating what I am learning when I’m forced to slow down. I’m truly sorry about your friend, Diana. I cannot imagine what that is like. I hope that this time may at least bring you some perspective. Some appreciation. Some joy somehow hidden in the sorrow.
Something that will deepen your writing. Something more to say that matters, like your essay today. Grieving with you today and grateful for your words. Thank you.
Yes, grief has blocked my writing – and everything else I used to do. My husband and I were married for 64 years – I was 19 when we married, so that meant my entire adult lifetime was spent with him. And now I am alone. I still talk to him. I miss him every minute of every day and tears still flow when I think of him. Will I write again? I don’t know. I know he would want me to – he was proud of my achievements – but I don’t know if I’ll ever find that kind of strength again.
(Hugs)
When I lost my Daddy in 2014, fiction writing stopped for a while, and the words got diverted into processing his death.
I haven’t wanted to go back and read those grief-filled words, but I know they’re there for when I’m brave enough.
Mother’s death in 2017 was a release for her, because she had been locked in to a non-responsive dementia for many years, but we still grieved.
I still feel like the bad daughter because I went to both funerals by iPad – the trip to Mexico City was a physical impossibility for me. I have four wonderful younger sisters, and they managed so that we are all still close, but that it one more thing I have to chalk up against ME/CFS – inability to grieve ‘properly.’
I am so sorry about your friend.
My heart breaks for each and every one of you who is grieving the loss of a loved one. Prayers ascending–may the God of all comfort strengthen and console you and in time bring you peace and joy.
I’ve buried myself in work or music or mundane tasks like cleaning. Writing is how I process everything but this is private writing, not for others. But time, precious time, is the healer, as are some of my favorite hymns and psalms. From Anima Christi, I especially love, “within Thy Wounds hide me.”
Love this, Vijaya.
Thank you for this post. I lost my sister on Christmas Day. I am still grieving and unable to write. I’ve lost my creative muse.
Me too. Me too. Multiple griefs, crowding my head. A new one only two days old. This is a good topic to discuss, not just because of the disgusting times we live in, but because most people here are fighting the encroachment of age, and that means losing people. Getting old is not for sissies.
Sometimes we just need to do what you did with this post–let those around you know you are grieving. And it is not always easy. I am sorry for your loss. And the comments bear out the kind and empathetic people on WU. Being word crafters, a difficult thing I just had to do is WRITE to a friend whose son was killed last week while mountain climbing. 31 years old, up in Alaska, hit my falling ice. And my friend, within this year, lost her husband to brain cancer. What words can rise off the page? It’s hard not to howl with grief. But we must find words. And we must be there with our care and love. Thanks for your post.
My condolences on you loss, Diana. When my brother died suddenly in a car accident, I plunged myself into my work, a foods science text. Writing about the complex chemistry and laws of nature reminded me that life does have order, that forces unseen are at work. Much of them still a mystery, but they all seem designed for a purpose, and the purpose is good.
A powerful post, Diana. Thank you. To those who feel they’ve lost their creative muse, you have not. There is meaning and healing in grief. We all know writing isn’t just the words we put on the page. It’s the heart, the feeling and thinking behind the words too. Much is going on during grief that makes us deeper writers in the end. TS Eliott said it best:
“I said to my soul, be still and wait without hope, for hope would be hope for the wrong thing; wait without love, for love would be love of the wrong thing; there is yet faith, but the faith and the love are all in the waiting. Wait without thought, for you are not ready for thought: So the darkness shall be the light, and the stillness the dancing.”
Diana, thank you for this post, and these powerful thoughts: We observe; we feel; we rest. We return.
Indeed, we do.
I’m so very sorry for your loss.
I couldn’t agree more. Writing has always been my therapy and my escape. In fact, my debut novel grew out of events surrounding my father’s death, twenty-one years ago. And then my mother died. And I lost my childhood home. And COVID kept me an ocean-away from my roots, my parents’ grave, my English village, my anchor. I have written through unexpected and traumatic loss, and through family crises with depression, OCD, and anxiety. I have written through aging parent psychosis and medical dramas. I have written through my husband’s cancer scare and various surgeries. But this round with grief? Slammed me in a way I still struggle to comprehend. I hear you times infinity, and send a huge e-hug. xxxx