Writing the complicated

What happens if the story keeps going?

Sorry, it’s been a minute. We went to Florida to see my parents. Then Ori launched a book! Which is great, but its own special kind of debilitation. Maybe more about that in the next newsletter. Now I have a couple days before Rosh Hashanah. It’s been busy. I haven’t finished the book. I’m working on it. I’m also thinking a lot about what’s happening in Florida, and in the Carolinas, and Tennessee, and climate change. Sometimes I think we should move, because there’s not a huge ceramics community here, and in Pittsburgh, where we lived before we came to Chicago, there was so much. There was a ceramics cooperative that was accessible and affordable. An annual ceramics show and sale that went through a neighborhood. The American Craft Exposition. Plus lots of opportunities for artists to work in the community, both volunteer and paid work. I know I have to work harder to develop and participate in the community where we live—right now, of course, I do nothing. I need to be better about this. Just a few days ago I was complaining to Ori, that why don’t we move to Asheville or something? Then the hurricane hit. For those who don’t know, Asheville is home to about a zillion potters, probably the largest community of ceramists in the US. Penland School of Craft is OK, but cut off from road access. But others are not so lucky. I have seen many destroyed studios on Instagram, but no specific ways to help those folks quite yet. In the meantime, here are some ways you can donate to help people in Asheville.

And, of course, with all this talk about climate change… you can find out about registering to vote here.

As to today’s newsletter, this is mostly going to be a discussion of how to write when the story keeps shifting.

A lot of people I know are working on complicated, personal stories, stories that still might be happening. When they ask me what they should do, or how to write these stories, I often say things like “Well, it’s really important to have a strong support system,” and I absolutely recommend being in therapy when working through these issues on the page, or having gone to therapy prior, because if you can’t bring your healthiest self to the work, the book will take a lot longer and you will end up with a lot of other issues that you have to resolve before the book actually comes together. Some people write to find out what happened, and I am probably among those people. But even if you’re writing to find out, you still need to be operating from a stable base.

But that doesn’t solve the problem of the fact that often these stories just continue, because life continues. It’s hard to put an ending on something when the story is still happening. Recently, I learned more about my brother, and what is happening currently in his life, and what might be next for him. It’s not in the book, not now, but maybe eventually, some information will end up there. The book is not really about him, but he is in it, and sometimes, the story changes and develops, with time. When I teach, I talk a lot about narrative distance. How it’s important to get the details when the initial story takes place, but that there is so much work to do afterwards, and so you may sit with your work for a long time before it becomes anything. This is okay, and in fact, a vital part of being a writer, or at least an essayist.

Probably the most important advice I can give about this sort of situation: where your life is still going and you have to end the book, or piece—is that you may end up ending it prematurely, for now, and that is okay. In revision, your editor can say “Hey, I need more here,” and that can be the impetus to dive back into the story, to try to make sense of things. Often in drafting a book or an essay, there’s this tendency to put a bow on things at the end. To wrap things up, to make things beautiful. But not everything is beautiful, or finished. You need to leave room for ambiguity, for the difficult stuff, for the stuff that may come later or in an afterword, the complicated gray parts that are not yet part of anything. Many writers struggle with this, and it’s totally normal, I think. The place to end may seem arbitrary for now. That’s also okay. Know you will probably get back to it, sooner rather than later.

On that note, I should get back to work.

Brief reminder that I am looking for gainful employment this fall/winter, if you know of anything. Remote, in person, whatever. Teaching, writing, editing, project management, horse jobs, retail. I’ve applied for some things, but mostly haven’t heard back. Planning to pitch more after this book is in, too, and have a little cup sale again as well. <3