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Making MeaningIf you came here first, give yourself 100 extra points! Have some more candy! Heck, have a new car! Like many of us on the web, I'm a frustrated writer*: hence my maverick love for the purple and verbose. The word "fiction" is derived from the Latin word fingere, which means to shape, or form. This might mean we participate in fiction more often than we think; for when we seek to tell the truth, as well as when we prevaricate, we are shaping and forming our own accounts of things. By this definition even sacred works might be termed fiction; not because they are false, but because they were formed with words. For me, to write is to make meaning. Neither a contrived, arbitrary meaning, nor a transcendent meaning granted only to prophets and poets. Making meaning does not necessarily mean finding answers to me; nor does it mean finding Truth. Just a simple shaping with words. By poetry, fiction, metaphor and symbol I seek to form handholds and footholds for myself. I write to sometimes purge, sometimes rebuke, sometimes mourn. Just in case you were worried, I try not to proselyte or persuade in my writing. Writing for me is a very subjective and solitary act, partly out of selfishness and partly out of necessity. However, on a recent trip to Europe I met the mystery writer J.A. Jance and her husband, Bill Schilb, who reminded me of yet another reason for writing: to entertain. What a difference that one reason makes! In addition to the purging, rebuking and mourning, don't forget to entertain! The best stories do all of these things. Suddenly, all of my stoic, foregoing reasons for writing look like so much self-aggrandizing. And, most importantly, what was a ponderously holy chore now becomes more of a pleasurable activity. I still resolutely believe we each must make our own meaning. But, I also believe we each must share that meaning with others, however we may. I have a dream that someday, someone (no doubt Amish) will eventually gather up all these scraps of meaning and sew up one hell of a quilt! Into which folds we will all someday crawl, to remain warm and comforted forever. Poetry:
Short Stories:
*(I'm actually not too bad a writer, the frustration is no doubt mostly sexual.) |
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