Perception as Muse

I am often inspired by the way in which people envision the world around them, particularly when they insist that their perception offers little in the way of inspiration for my pen.

For instance, I have a friend who works in the Alaskan tundra (he can actually see Russia from his house!). During a recent conversation, he described his surroundings in cool and barren terms. He mentioned a heavy fog that limited his view to just a few hundred feet ahead; enviable, cool temperatures; and that he stood among several dull, red buildings which flanked one lone green structure, unworthy of any further description.

My response was typical of a writer; I wanted to be there to compare and contrast his point of view to mine. He contended that his landscape would leave my pen dull and my paper bare. And just like that, I felt challenged to discover a revelation within my friend’s skepticism.  A few hours later I presented to him, “Alaskan Fog”, my tribute to his austere vista.

Alaskan Fog (for Greg J.)

He works within the barren tones

of an unforgiving landscape;

insisting there is

no rhyme

or

no reason

for my pen and ink to make its mark

in this tundra of black gold--

I beg to differ.

His purpose grays his surroundings

and antiques nearby scarlet and jade structures nearby;

silver-linings are lost in low clouds

content to insulate fog’s influence

and obstruct farsightedness.

Yet,

in the midst of his existence,

constrained by distance and a gulf of Pacific mist,

he manages to keep me in full view.

© 2011 Camille Gray. All right reserved.

For writers, perception is an undisputed means to harnessing the creative process. I find it especially useful to employ conjecture at times to record the movements of a particular individual in a crowd.

During a recent downtown outing, I noticed a young woman in distress standing on a railroad platform, seemingly waiting for the next train. I could not tell if she was waiting to board or waiting to jump.  She left little distance in her face and in her posture to change her mind about her decision. I recognized the despair in her countenance; I have been its counselor and friend.  

Perhaps it was a mother’s prayer that led this bystander to board the train with me; maybe it was the simple realization that all was in fact not lost or as bad as she perceived it to be. Perhaps it was both.  She left the train two stops later without our exchanging so much as a glance. I continued on to my destination, composing this poem enroute:

Waiting

Melancholy hovers heavily as she waits for the next train:

The memory and demise of Virginia Wolfe and Sylvia Plath

encircle her space along with private demons thought long exorcised.

Don’t judge. You have yours too.

I watch and wonder:

Will she board --

joining the other unhappy travelers on a hapless adventure;

riding until her mind no longer

thinks

or

spins?

Or…

will she join her circle of mischievous spirits--

taking an impolite and well-heeled stride

into the path of her intended;

silencing

all spin

and

all thought?

©2011 Camille Gray. All rights reserved.

So much of creative composition is an exercise into discovering the insight of others. Some of our noblest and innovative creations arrive when we give ourselves permission to be the inventors of and witnesses to fabricated perception, whose outcome gives our audience a clever, climatic and delightfully sensory literary experience.

Selah,

Camille

Editing Life

As an editor, I am confounded by the number of writers who refuse editing; insisting that their work is perfect as it stands. It is especially disheartening to hear this proclamation from novice writers who stand firm in the certainty that their religious beliefs, combined with divine inspiration, somehow exempts them from the issues of grammar, punctuation, subject-verb agreement and numerous other problems that writers new and seasoned inevitably have with their work.

It takes a great degree of arrogance to believe that one’s work is exempt from the entirety of the writing process; that we can simply write without regard to the consequences of the process. I learned very early in my writing career that any work can benefit from a critique, regardless of its source of inspiration. The lessons of the editing process are valuable for one’s work and life.

Every critique I endure is an invitation to improve upon my voice and to examine my way of life. For instance, an editor once told me that I have a tendency to write in “code”. I was encouraged to simply say what must be said. I could trace that observation back to my personal life. The result has been that I am more diplomatically direct in both my creative and personal voice. I reserve the cloak and dagger tendencies in my writing for the most appropriate moments.  

My life and my writing must be edited to accommodate the time and space bestowed upon me by the generosity of the universe. Otherwise, words and opportunities wander aimlessly and may be, consequently, all together lost.

I am more willing than ever to change what must be changed for the good of my work and to accommodate the forces keeping me in touch with my desires and purpose. I wish that new writers would welcome the eye of experience on their creative and personal pursuits. Each of us can benefit from a bit of editing; whether in our writing or in our life.

To be certain, our first draft is never our last.

Camille