I shouldn’t waste too much time writing this because the whole point of this coming month is not to talk or think or even write about writing, but to just write.
But I do want to confess this: I have not written creative nonfiction — real gut-wrenching, thoughtful, provocative memoir — in four years. Yes, four years.
Considering it’s my genre of choice, you might find that odd. We should be writing every single day, right? Or at least every week.
And I am writing. A lot. Medical features. Freelance articles. Flash fiction and poems.
And I do write CNF occasionally. Here at the blog. In word documents that aren’t yet ready for the world’s judgmental eye. And, of course, real life sneakily negotiates its way into each fictional narrative I construct.
In Words Worth Sharing, I recently quoted Tim O’Brien:
Somebody tells you a story, let’s say, and afterward, you ask, “Is it true?” And if the answer matters, you’ve got your answer.
Nonfiction matters, so why, lately, can I focus on anything but?
I think the answer may be two-fold:
Life gets in the way of writing essays, and writing essays gets in the way of life.
What I mean by this is that I haven’t been writing CNF because I’ve been living it, tweaking each day’s observations in my head and on scraps of paper to try and find the meaning worth putting down.
Likewise, I haven’t been writing it because of this idea: much of what I’m writing can be hurtful to others, and as a result, will never see the light of day. My friend and fellow CNF-enthusiast, Kanitha, once wrote that she isn’t a good Cambodian girl who can “shut up.” I sometimes think I would benefit from that rebellion–a sense that I can and will say what I’m feeling towards other people and their actions. I can say it, and I can write it, and I can publish it. And other people can then read it and react as such.
Between the lines, and my continued obsession with truth, writing fiction and hard news pieces in the “off-season” has provided insights into CNF. Writing fiction forces us to think about details, as we imagine and create them out of thin air. Fiction necessitates considerations about foreshadowing and nuances that exist in our own lives, though often they are overlooked. News and feature writing hones wordyness down to the bare bones, strengthens flow, and spruces up leads and endings. Now, I’m applying all of these new skills as I dive into an old craft.
My writing has grown and matured more than I could ever imagine since I last jumped in–just as I’d hoped. I’m not saying it’s anywhere near perfect; there is so, so, so, so, so much work to be done. So much. But I’m pleased that in those four years of silence, I’ve pieced together enough perspective to once again write what I find to be truly satisfying and fulfilling. I cannot begin to explain how therapeutic writing one simple 900-word essay can be.
What I’m also finding is that I’m no longer that 17-year-old who fell in love with nonfiction in her 12th grade memoir class. What I seek is no longer the validation of my craft from others; what I seek is ways to grow and improve and critique and learn and even fail. I’m searching for empty hours, hoping I’m strong enough to turn off the television and use words in new, creative ways with my *free time*– even though I spend entire workdays exercising my brain through similar tasks.
It’s day four and I’ve already learned so much from Lisa Romeo‘s 4×4 personal essay/memoir course assignments and discussions with my classmates. I’m happy to be reading, writing, and conversing about nonfiction, despite my temporary sebatacle. Now it seems, I’m back in the game.
