Question: How to balance poetic and lyrical language with clarity of narrative to avoid abstraction
Having signed up for Ashley’s Advanced Fiction Workshop this Autumn, I thought it would be a complimentary exercise to reflect on the things that are most pertinent to the fiction I have chosen to work on over the coming weeks.
Our small group is diverse in writing styles and genres. I wondered how we might respond to each other’s work, where reading aloud to a group is thrown into contrast with the solitary experience of writing. It occurs to me after each workshop, that the process of listening and commenting on other people’s writing feels something like trying to tune an analogue radio to remove static; to listen to the purer sound. This metaphor seems to apply in two ways: firstly I’ve noticed how I’ve adjusted my ears to different styles and genres, to engage in the moment of broadcast and respond to the nuances of language, character and plot. Secondly, I’ve learned to hear past the white noise created in writers drafts, most especially my own, to respond to the elements which are working and identify the things which may not.
In this, I suppose the white noise represents all the pitfalls that writers can fall into, all the things we do or don’t do with language, character and plot which may get in the way of the clear signals of the story in transmission. I’m aware that the white noise can ultimately make the listener switch off altogether, so I need to respond by twisting the dial till I find the right frequency, allowing the melodies in the writing to sing loud and clear.
So thinking of drafting and listening in this way is interesting, because I’m increasingly conscious of my story-telling self. I know that stories are not often read aloud, but a reader hears a story aloud in their head when they engage with a piece of writing. I’ve begun to think about the symbiotic relationship of the reading experience and the aural engagement of language as one of the many things which I find arresting in short stories; closely aligned to the experience of a movement of music.
This is apt, because the fiction piece I am working on is about a piano who unites the Tuner and the owner. The musicality of the language achieved through lyrical and rhythmic considerations have become an important structural element. When sharing this draft, Ashley commented on the hypnotic nature of the piece. I want to achieve the effect of a state of reverie in the same way that people might respond to music / rhymes / lyrics oftentimes, as part of, but not exclusively, the journey the story takes you on. Placing aural demands on my writing seems a tricky but crucial objective.
What also arose in feedback was the opacity of the language, which brings me back to thinking of all that white noise. The descriptive language which attempts to convey the sensuality of music becomes too abstract and has the potential to obstruct the clear course of narrative. It was suggested that I might address this through consideration of syntax. For example, if I’m writing a stream of conscious thought, I still need to consider where I use sentence breaks for clarity of meaning and to ensure I take the reader with me. This brought me to consideration of how hard each element of the language works. Simplifying phrases will allow the vivid images to come forward. It is all a matter of balance. So, at the moment my fingers are on the dial, scrolling back and forth through the white noise, trying to tune in.
Carrie Patten 