Sunday, February 6, 2011

A Blessed Compulsion

It's Packer Bowl Sunday. Whoops. I mean Super Bowl Sunday. I imagine I'm one of a mere handful of people in the state of Wisconsin and most likely around the entire United States who won't be tuning into the Big Game this afternoon.

I was a huge football follower in my teens and early 20s. It offered a way to connect with my father, a loyal Minnesota Vikings' fan. He never missed an opportunity on a fall or winter weekend to watch--and cheer on--his favorite team as well as every other professional and collegiate ball toss aired on television.

Today I'm more interested in engaging in the sport of words. Since I'm the coach, receiver, and quarterback--the whole team really--in this game, I ask myself when I begin a writing project: What game plan should I use? If I toss these words into the air, is there anyone down field to catch them? How might it feel to carry one pigskin-wrapped metaphor into the end zone?

I debate whether to fall back and lob a pass or grasp the ball tightly under one arm and run for it. Is it possible for me to make a touchdown? A field goal? Or should I simply settle for first and ten? Then do it again.

I've thought about the power--and entertainment value--of words a lot lately. I spent the past two evenings, along with 28 other writers, reading my piece from Love Stories of the Bay at Stagenorth. It was a fascinating, terrifying, and exhilarating experience. These intense, captivating, and highly personal evenings caused me to wonder what causes each of us to write. And also, what draws over 250 people to a theater over the course of two cold winter evenings to hear what we have to say? Moreover, what motivates writers to write even if every single one of those theater seats remained empty?

I realize that, for me, just as well-prepared food nourishes my body, a well-written story feeds my heart and expands and lightens my spirit. Language, words, and metaphors have the power to ignite a fire in the soul. But, just like football, the written and spoken word is not for everyone. It pains me a bit to recognize this fact. I'd like to think that because I'm captivated by turns of phrase and word pictures others would be too.

In my January 24, 2011 blog entry under Rooted in Earth, Suspended from Sky ("The Soul that hears loving words becomes more loving") I wrote:
Yes, I have a passion for words. Why? Because words have the power to express feelings, unravel confusion, draw people into a web of community and connection, and bring deeper meaning to our lives.

I just turned the page in my journal and discovered this quote, 'The soul that beholds beauty becomes more beautiful.' I believe, in a similar vein, that the soul that hears loving words becomes more loving.
I continue on in that blog to quote Wisconsin Public Radio Here on Earth host, Jean Feraca. In her book, I Hear Voices, Feraca recalls a creative writing teacher who told Feraca's class that there were only two subjects worth writing about: love and death. (p. 122). Perhaps that's why our Love Stories of the Bay seem so potent. These stories of love--and death--describe our passionate connection to our dogs, wild animals, spouses, lovers, friends, parents, land, water, and our shared home here on the Chequamegon Bay.

After the past two nights on stage I feel freshly inspired to continue along my path as a writer. It's not easy. Writing is a lonely, solitary, and seemingly thankless business. And, possibly because this is so, writers long for loving support and encouraging words from their family and friends, audience, and readers.  

Thankfully, I was blessed with a father who not only watched football, basketball, and baseball most weekends. He read ... and also wrote. Perhaps because he so enjoyed the power and potency of language he passed some of his passion for words on to me where it lodged itself deep in my bones and DNA.

Perhaps, as Jean Feraca writes in her book, I write simply because I have no choice. Maybe I, too, suffer from what, per Feraca, "Denise Levertov once called the blessed compulsion of art." It's true that I can't not write. How's that for a double negative?

Whatever the inspiration for putting pen to paper or fingertips to computer keyboard, I believe Feraca illustrated one significant benefit to the writer's life with this quote from poet Louise Bogan: You cannot change your language without changing your life. (p. 133)

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