Writing a memoir, especially one that includes exploration of the dark side of everything, including God, is hard work. It makes me want to go to analysis because I have begun to see much I haven’t see before. Stuff I didn’t even know existed. Amina is one.
Loren Pedersen writes, “the more in touch with the inner feminine a man is, the more comfortable he is likely to be with inner self-exploration. The anima, as a potential connection to his unconscious, may appear personified in his dreams and fantasies.”
When I picked up his book Dark Hearts, one that was leant to me, I had little interest. That was at the beginning of August. I am now the proud owner of the book and reading it at the fast clip of about two pages a day. No meat here. Hah!
I didn’t bother to look back at my other posts to see if I have used this heading before. Listening, I think it is the most important contributor to healing our world. I also believe it has to start long before the listening of diplomacy. Listening at a diplomatic level is as essential as an other listening, but at that level the stress is so high that the risk of failure is much greater.
Robert Johnson in his book Owning Your Own Shadow writes, “You can give another person a precious gift if you will allow them to talk without contaminating their speech with your own material.”
Less of us can be a very good thing, but we must remain present.
In Owning Your Own Shadow, author Robert Johnson writes, “Narrow creativity always brings a narrow shadow, while broader talents call up a greater portion of the dark.”
Most of my life I thought that avoiding my shadow meant success. Now I am distressed to learn how totally untrue this is. It is incredible to me that I have found in my writing a willingness to do just the opposite. More than a willingness, I have an almost panicky desire to dance in the shadows. I can’t get there fast enough.
I hope you learned to dance before I did.
Peter Quigley is his book Housing the Environmental Imagination doesn’t use the word crafting, but rather “fashioning.” Such a familiar word, but one I may have never used.
In The Oxford English Dictionary it offers, “Fashioning is to give shape to, to mold.”
Sounds like crafting to me, but that is not the point. The point is to consider how many of us get there? How many of us fashion a life that matter? Do even we even know when we have?
Quigley writes, “There is so much than conspires against getting it right. Like the crafting of a poem, one crafts a life alone.”
I guess Quigley got to that word crafting too.
He writes on, ” We do it against all odds, and we do it with the crushing likelihood that the project will evaporate, the profile will be blotted out, the language will blur, and all will be subsumed by some governing paradigm; we will fall in line.”
It has happened more than once to me. How about you? How do we craft a life that matters?
Dear writers, how many narrative voices do you use? What is the difference between finding your voice and employing a narrative voice? These and many more questions I am examining as I write a book that is fast becoming a memoir.
I work hard to find times of angst. Doing so takes me back in time. Who said there are no time machines?
Some days I flounder against angst’s mother ship. I produce a whiny narrative voice. What is that? Not good I think.
In all instances, I try to include a voice that can express humor. I am hoping that by doing so I will find a sound that can appraise up close and at a distance in conversational tones.
Henry Miller writes about receiving a clock as a gift. He said he was not an accumulator. He saw stuff as “white elephants.” He took heart in having to accept a clock he didn’t want by surmising it wouldn’t be around long. He had a two-year old daughter in the house.