Ann
Patchett compares writing to trapping and dissecting a butterfly—it’s a killing
act, but the only way to come close to getting down on paper what’s in the
mind. I think the whole act of writing
is getting something to live, no matter how imperfect, an act of creation, not
deconstruction. In keeping with the
butterfly metaphor, I think a writer’s job is to distract with action and
unique pattern so that no one notices the seams caused by revision and hard
work. Just like the flutter and design
of the butterfly wings distract us from the insect things in the middle. Norman Mailer called writing the spooky art, and
I agree it’s a mysterious act of creation.
I see writers as trained midwives in the process of creation. That’s not to say perfection. A story can never truly be life, it can only
imitate it. It can be a Frankenstein,
sewn together out of myriad parts, ultimately uncontrollable, or a Pinocchio,
so close but not quite human, or a zombie out of Pet Cemetery. But it is creation.
There
has to be hard work in writing, but I think MFA programs can train writers to sharpen a story
like a pencil until all that’s left is the point. Polish is important, but not if it strips
away what’s underneath. Writing comes out of necessity and the instrument
doesn’t matter as much as the story, like a murder victim scrawling a final message
in blood. Use what you’ve got to get
your message across. I think it’s
possible to kill a story with craft. I’d
rather let it live through a difficult birth and a disappointing childhood.
I
don’t want to think of writers as scientists in lab coats, removed from the
real world studying carefully dissected entrails. I think of writers as paramedics performing
CPR in the midst of an accident scene, trying to resuscitate. It’s hard work, physically and mentally draining, not always
successful, but not killing work.
