Absence Note

A couple of weeks ago, I gave a character this speech line: ‘I suck at writing non-fiction’. For reasons too complex to explore here, that character was masquerading as me, the author. (If you’re curious, the story’s here.)  So did a story actor tell a truth about me?

Yes, and no. As part of my job, I write posts for another blog. Fairly specialist, it looks mostly at sheet music publications old and new, and finds their story. Writing the posts is fun; I learn on the go, sometimes starting from scratch on subjects like Cowboy Songs or Chinese Revolutionary Opera. To my biased eye, what results makes for good reading, being varied, informative, and relatively informal.

What these posts lack though, is anything much about me. The odd comment or observation might be included along the way, but the blog is there to represent my workplace. That’s OK in this context; it isn’t so much if I try to write a personal essay here. This is where my writing sucks.

Most weeks, I read at least one item on the non-fiction grid; sometimes, all of them. Do I analyse their structure and content? Not consciously; it’s clear which ones work and draw me in, leaving a lasting impression. My main issue is finding something to write about. Oh, and defining how I should come across.

Does this sound weird? Let me try and explain. I recently solved a life puzzle – one which allows me finally to make some sense of myself. I still have work to do. Until then, I imagine my writing will continue to lack that definite sense of self that populates any good personal writing. It’s nothing to do with sexuality or gender, I think; rather it comes from a writer who knows and owns their place in society.

Another element missing from my essays is emotion. I don’t necessarily mean the heart-on-sleeve kind; more, the ability to describe myself in that way, or to put myself centre-stage. (You’ll have noticed I don’t elaborate on the exact puzzle mentioned.) This might appear odd because one of the principal features of my fiction writing is its emotional depth. Readers say they are drawn into the characters’ inner lives.

So why isn’t there a bridge between the two? Well… even this limited display of feelings is quite recent. In fact, for as long as I’ve been a writer – all of three years. Putting pencil to paper unblocked something in my soul – a release which has allowed self-expression as well as a rapid-fire course in emotional growth. Hardly a unique experience, I imagine. A dear friend to whom I first told my news, is another factor. Both by his own example and in the conversations we have, he guides me to learn life skills I probably should’ve gained decades ago.

When growing up, does everyone’s family life seem the only way until you learn otherwise? I’m not implying anything obviously bad happened in mine, but an outsider’s perspective does change things. Both my parents were quite self-contained emotionally – between themselves, and towards me and my siblings. It was rare they acted like a couple. As for the kind of physical and verbal demonstrations of affection counted necessary nowadays, we kids saw next-to-nothing.

This experience made me regard other families with curiosity. We didn’t see many close to though. That I might be damaged didn’t come home until a reader commented on another story.  A character endured a ‘hands-off’ upbringing derived from my own; he reflects briefly on its effects. One comment on story included this sentence: ‘That childhood would be hard to leave unscathed.’ It made me think.

So was it all someone else’s responsibility? Of course, not. I drifted through my teens, completely clueless, always looking in from the outside. Moving away to university and then work improved matters somewhat, but the isolation continued. Numerous people invited me to social occasions over the years. Mostly, I refused – being uncomfortable in your own skin isn’t a good basis for conviviality.

Now though, there’s a new air of certainty, and this despite not telling anyone in real life my news. It’s a work in progress and one I’m pleased to have finally started.

Meanwhile, back to this piece. So does this essay suck?

© 2019, northie

If you made to the end, well done! Writing this essay is part of YeahWrite’s November NaNoDoMore. Your comments and constructive criticism are always welcome.

Image by kropekk_pl from Pixabay