Will You Choose to Find Meaning?

So, I'm teaching this fiction extension class right now, and I have this student--probably in his thirties-- who, thus far, has turned in all of his exercises and his story for workshop unfinished. He expressed this in class--that he has trouble finishing things--and so as I was writing the critique to his (unfinished) story, I began to articulate something of an ars poetica, or at least as that applies to fiction writing. What follows is partially about his story, and partially about my approach to writing. While it may or not prove interesting to those on the outside, I was particularly struck by how passionate this response became, and how strongly I feel about the power of fiction writing.

"Some other things to consider that I’ve already discussed in class with other stories: Ask yourself what this character wants, and then make sure the story asks a question of the reader very early on. What conflict is here, and what pressure can we place on these characters to make their fault lines emerge? How can we see character also emerge from interaction? When characters are isolated (as they often are in exposition—thoughts from a detached brain), we have no chance to see the friction of everyday life, no chance to see their reactions. We must be allowed to deduce the mystery of personality on our own—if we are told it, we simply won’t believe it. We, the readers, are like the state of Missouri: Show me, or I won’t buy it.

"I want you to stick with this story—my impression is that you get going, and then something stops you—like the Y & Z in the alphabet story—like you are afraid or hesitant to finish something. I may be overstepping here, but if there’s any truth to this, try to figure out why you’re afraid of finishing something, and then force yourself to move past it. If you truly care about writing, you will eventually want to finish something. It is an act of faith, which is what writing really is. We have no idea where we’re going, and we have no guarantee of anything when we get to wherever that is, and yet we press on, because we believe in something larger than that our lives exist to turn on the television. It is about belief. Belief that even if the first draft sucks like a black hole, that something is better than nothing, and that only once you have something, can you make meaning. I believe that fiction writers believe, at the very least, that there is something meaningful about our lives. They may not know what it is, but they write to find out, and they don’t give up. I may be waxing philosophical here, but I detect a real hesitancy and I believe that your even showing up for class means that you hope to find something with your fiction writing. And I believe that the act of writing, when done in good faith, has enormous power to shed light on our strengths and our failings, and in so doing, to begin the work of improvement. (Of self, and thereby of the world.) Also, sometimes it is funny. And that’s important to remember too. That life is often just riotously incomprehensible and sweet with lightness.

"My point, and I do have one, is this: Dare to suck. I will talk about this in class more, but basically, finish something, then see where it takes you. Trust in the process. This story seems, in four short pages, to have a whole world of layers and meaning just waiting to be uncovered. And I believe that you are the only person that can do that for this story. It is up to you. Will you choose to find meaning, or will you turn away from it? I have already told the class that I am biased towards stories with meaning, with affection for humanity, but that is also because I believe writing is a profoundly (and not in a religious way) moral act. So take this whole thing with a grain of salt and probably a shot of tequila, but take it, and then it is up to you."