45. Read Stuff Out Loud To Each Other

Yesterday, I spent an inordinate amount of time reading classic poetry out loud with my good friend Davo. We traded off reading from an old yellowed copy of an anthology. Poems that were considered classic back in the 50's when the book was published, and they're still classic today.

Why did we do such a thing? Because, well, it was there. And it was very much worth doing. We had no real expectation other than to see what the experience held. To take the opportunity to feel from the standpoint of each writer, to put ourselves into their shoes, sense from their perspective, exist in their era, strive with their strivings.

Perfection on a stick

So they were all classics. Were they perfect, flawless works of unparalleled beauty? Well, sort of. But also: certainly not. I may never again laugh so hard as I laughed at Robert Frost's Birches.

I'm not saying I could do better, or even that there's something wrong with Birches. I believe less that things should be improved and moreso that perfection isn't the thing to strive for.

I wrote in a previous TMMW piece about how writers are burdened with the expectation -- I certainly am -- that my unfinished work is somehow a terrible thing, and that it is only when a piece has been revised that it's considerate to put it in front of another human being. And well, it's true that unfinished work can be a hell of a burden to expect the average person to read. If you the author haven't arrived at a sense for what the piece wants to be, it's hard for the reader to know how to situate themselves, how to honor the thing for what it is and discover what it wants to be.

Sharing versus critique

I put this challenge into practice during writing retreats. Each night after dinner, the group gathered in a circle outdoors to read from pieces in progress. Before reading something, the writer told the group whether they wanted a critique or simply to share.

"Simply to share" maybe gives the impression that sharing is a low-stakes thing or that it matters less than critique, but that would be very far from the mark of what I mean. I think in our society we over-prioritize critique. Why do we do such a silly thing? Because it allows us to judge something external to ourselves and believe that we are quantifying something about it?

To critique is a skill, but so is to share. It can be uniquely challenging to both share and to receive someone's share, just as there are plenty of unhelpful ways to critique -- as when someone says "that's no good" or "I don't like it" or something along those lines.

How to share

It's important to at least try to be curious about where the piece is wanting to go - very often this can be learned simply by listening to the author's stated intention. And likewise it's important for an author to bring and to state these questions and intentions. "I wrote this book inspired by the epic story world evoked by the movie Prometheus, but I want it to be set in rural Ohio, and I did my best to try and make it funny. I'd like to better understand how my humor comes off."

Or the writer can ask questions. “Does it hold together plot-wise? Are my characters interesting?”

What prevents a share from becoming a critique, then?

The listeners, really. They play an important role during the experience — they are active participants. Their impressions, emotions, and reactions add something to the exchange. To the writer, there’s a lot of information in the listener’s straightforward, immediate experience of the thing as it happens in the moment. Whether it’s a share or a critique has to do with whether they value their own experience as a contribution to the moment.

Writing is a peculiar thing

Nimbly we construct language from symbols in an effort to -- what? Store the shapes of the thoughts and feelings so that they endure and can be picked up, trodden as paths by another? The very effort is one of imposition but also attempted empathy.

Can you see what I mean?

The whole thing is artifice. Beginning with the most basic utterance, evolving into speech, and then into the more sophisticated contrivance of written language.

Like many things that exist in the backdrop of life its power is not to be taken for granted.

Therefore, I say, read to each other!

Read out loud.

This is advice I gave students for many years when I was a professor.

A common challenge students face stems from how they are made to focus on getting things right, to focus on the assignment guidelines, and incorporate research, and organize their thoughts. As a result their writing may be technically OK but feel stilted.

As writers, this can be remedied somewhat by reading the piece out loud, so you can feel the difference between how you speak and write. Reading aloud is an opportunity to perceive the natural rhythms of thought and the space to be given to emphasize certain things. The connective tissue that either should be or should not be there in certain places.

Reading aloud is a prospect that might seem antiquated or awkward. Who has time? In this fast-paced world? Although it may seem like "slowing down," reading aloud is actually just about feeling things more.

People get nervous that they are not good orators. As with anything, practice augments this belief. With practice, you come to feel the words as you say them and not care as much how it all sounds.

Reading aloud is a chance to feel the effect that writing can have

Part of the repercussion of the post-covid social syndrome is that everyone sort of believes they as individuals matter less. Social circles are dwindling as social media followings get more attention. We don't realize how much we have the potential to affect each other.

But I'll tell you. As a writing coach, I read client work closely. And without fail, it colors how I see things for the next few days. It's there in the background in the things I do and how I go about my life. It's part of my job as a writing coach but it's also a magnificent thing to be surrounded by.

We don't realize we have these effects on each other.

As a wise fellow said:

The next thing you do might turn out to be the most important thing you'll ever do.

Probably not -- but it might!

Living with this possibility is a good way to go about your days.