The Odd and the Wonderful

It’s mine, by the way — that’s (always) the right answer

23 Aug 2010 5 Comments

by Silbena in Creative writing, Thinking aloud Tags: ideas, pseudo-philosophising, writing

Before I go on with today’s ACTUAL post, I thought that now is time good enough as any to prove to any hypothetical (or real — how should I know, I’ve been watching/thinking too much about Inception) readers that I actually do write some things other than my blog. Today’s pasting will consist of an essay — wait, don’t nod off just yet, it’s not actually an ESSAY in the traditional sense of things-you-could-have-said-in-two-sentences — that we’ve been working on for in English. It’s remarkable mainly because of its philosophical context — the English assessors of VCE decided, some two years ago, that the English exam is too easy and thus included this part that is called “context”, where they sometimes indicate an exact context for your piece of writing (i.e. an article in a newspaper online), but mainly only give you a prompt based on the broad topic of “Whose reality.” Yep, “whose reality.”

Anyway, I’m writing in italics so you wouldn’t confuse what I write in the essay with this preface crap. I also wanted to say that what I am about to post is in no way a polished piece of writing — this was written when I was half-conscious and within a period. There’s a lot in it that I would edit and move around and add and clarify, if I had time, but I was proud enough of the idea in itself that I thought “aw, what the hell, let’s just post it online.”

The prompt, and the response, respectively:

You are writing an article on ‘Whose Reality’ for a school anthology. Explore the prompt ”Everything you can imagine is real.” Pablo Picasso.

As someone who enjoys creative writing, I am often offended at people who insult my imagination. ”Your characters aren’t real, you know?” they tell me, when I gush over some exciting confrontation or exchange between characters in one of my stories, ”You’ve just thought them up.” I am similarly offended by other creative writers, who tend to become pessimistic after reading works of other authors: ”Everything’s done already; the only way you can make a difference is to have a coherent and original execution of a used idea.” I do not agree with either of these statements, and I do not think that any competent creative writer should agree with them, either. I firmly believe that everything every writer, or otherwise creative person, manages to imagine, is real.

I have been asked to write for this anthology, as it is widely known by my fellow students and my teachers alike that I enjoy writing. To those who are closest to me, it is also clear — sometimes painfully so — that I am an extremely sensitive human being, who cannot always cope with what I see society to have deemed to be real. The pressure of schoolwork and the expectations I and my peers set on me are oftentimes difficult to deal with. Since forever, I have used creative writing as an escape from ”reality” — as something I can turn to when I cannot otherwise banish some worries out of my mind. However, this is not to say that I hence thrust reality aside and submerge myself in make-believe. Of course, the things that I write are not corporeal, which seems to be many person’s definition for ”real” in a world of skeptics. ”If I cannot see or touch it, it does not exist.” But, I say, consider the creative process: to be a sufficient creative writer, one has to have experienced a certain amount of things during their life. This is because a writer can only draw from their own experience, their own sentiments and their own thoughts; it is possible to plagiarise the views and values of other authors, but for experienced readers and writers, the difference is obvious. In other words, this would mean that everything ”surreal” that a writer creates somehow has its roots in the ”real” world. Many writers would object to such a claim, saying that what they create are truly original pieces — consider Neil Gaiman, for example, whose style resembles the twisted oddness of fairytales. There is nothing real in those stories, are there? Well, no, I will admit glady, the primary plot cannot happen in this world with its laws of physics and all — however, the inspiration for those stories may have come from a real conversation between two real people, or maybe a long walk in the woods. Considering where the ”surreal” stories of many authors came from is almost sufficient in itself to blur the lines between what is real and what is not, is it not?

To me, each and every character I have ever created is as real as myself. During the course of history, human beings have — ever since the ancient civilisations — been fascinated with the concept of a soul. Even in modern times, when we know, rather much in detail, how the human body functions and how our brains send signals to our other organs to keep the whole functioning, we remain just as clueless to the concept of oneself. This is very relevant in this discussion in the sense that one’s reality and one’s sense of self are very strongly connected — as one can only believe things real that one knows are real, oneself. Differing opinions on reality are caused by the differing senses of self we have; and as priorly stated, it is still a mystery as to the source and function of this sense of self. While it may be difficult to explain to someone who does not know the joys or the sorrows of creative writing, or even to one that practices it but believes characters only tools of the plot, it is very possible that imaginary characters become extensions of one’s self. Though I attempt to consciously avoid it, I have recently found that it is not possible to create a character who does not consist of at least parts of what you know or consider to be your very self. This is for the very reason I explained in the previous paragraph: a writer can only draw from one’s own experiences, and since one’s experiences shape one’s opinions and perceptions to form one’s sense of self, this means that a writer, when creating, always draws from oneself. It is not to be said that this process is always conscious — in fact, I am rather against the notion. Like I mentioned before, I oftentimes attempt to consciously avoid creating characters that replicate aspects of me, as a human being — but when looking back at a whole score of them, it is hardly ever possible. Even when you believe to be creating something entirely new and fascinating; even when you experience the rush of two plotlines running seamlessly together because of a major revelation or idea you had, the solution has likely been with you all along, deep within your subconscious. It could be said that creative writing is every bit as real as taking a walk in a park — if even more so, for in taking a walk in a park you are influencing your reality with new observations and forcing it to shape to these observations, whereas in creative writing, you reach deep inside and explore what is and has always been there.

As a writer always draws from influences to themselves, it is wrong to say that each and every story has been written already. If I loathe the comments that some inconsiderate people give me when feeling a sort of anguish because of something that has happened to one of my characters because of some twist in my story, I harbor an even deeper hatred for anyone pessimistic enough to announce that there is no possible story that I can write that will not have been ”done already.” Usually these people will be ones who read or have read many, many books within their lifetimes — a few students that I have talked to, for example, and maybe a few teachers. It is their reasoning that all ideas have somehow been used, and subconsciously, anyone who writes will draw on the ideas of authors whose books they have read, and simply rewrite them in their own words. However, in saying so, they also forget that reading is an exercise of interpretation. It is shocking how often English students will argue their heads off in English classes about what motive a character had or what the significance of the setting is; it is surprising how few acknowledge that everybody’s interpretation is an equally valid one. For example, in my very own English class, we had a Great Debate which consisted on a few strongly opinionated girls in the class, arguing, in a rather feministic tone, that Tennessee Williams’ character in A Streetcar Namerd Desire, Stella, is a stupid hen for staying with her abusive husband. They called her meek, submissive and cowardly for not standing up to her husband or leaving the marriage, as Blanche would have wanted her to. I find this a perfectly valid interpretation, though I, myself, would have considered in a way that Stella’s view on reality had widened with her experiences of the lower class — she was now more aware of how average relationships functioned in this part of the world (see Eunice and Steve’s explosive relationship, for example), and she had grown to accept it. In my eyes, Stella was never meek and submissive, but rather chose to accept the facts and still love her husband, despite what Blanche said of him — this is most plain in how Stella never contradicted Blanche’s claims of Stanley’s violence. As you can see, there are two different interpretations — two different realities — at play here, each of them every bit as valid as the other, as our English teachers are so very keen on telling us. And as reading is an exercise of interpretation, even if a writer draws on the ideas of another author, they will emerge having gone through the interpretation and the filter of perception of the writer, hence making them new ideas, new creations and new interpretations. Everything I write is my own, whether or not it is a realisation borrowed from another author or an amazingly philosophical friend. We, as human beings, constantly draw from our environment, and it is natural for us — why should we hence be told off for doing it?

As you can see, determining what exactly is real and what is not, even in the terms of the ”imaginary” isn’t exactly as easy as you would think it would be. However, it is not as difficult as this lengthy exploration would have wanted to express it to be, either. In fact, my beliefs on what is real and what is not in terms of imagination can be summarised very briefly: whatever you believe in is real, as long as you believe in it. At the moment you stop believing in it, it ceases being real, for your self has made it surreal to you. In other words, if you believe it a part of your self, your soul, it is very real to you. No-one else’s opinions or interpretations should matter to you, for it is your reality — however, please do remember that interpretations do differ, and that the person reading the same story will not always agree with you on what is real; remember, that their reality is just as real as yours, too. A simple rule: everything is real.

My teacher said that my central idea is too simple. Everything can’t possibly be real. What do you think? Drop me a line