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the twelfth day: a song about books or writing
I thought this one was impossible. I know there is a list of five or so popular songs that mention writing books, but I don't listen to those songs and it seemed cheating to just go and link them for the sake of having one. At the same time, looking at the lyrics - well, they didn't seem to be about those things as much as they mentioned them. So I went back to the moderately limited pool of music that I enjoy. I found a few; they didn't altogether inspire me, and they were more about story-telling than books or writing. But as I looked at two in particular - Boy Like Me/Man Like You by Rich Mullins and Little Boy Heart Alive by Andrew Peterson - I thought of a third. It is a song about storytelling, and not about the writing of books specifically (it mentions movies, ironically) ... but, though I begrudge the Kindle its existence, paper and a binding do not a book make. Scratches on hardened pulp from a tree do not writing make. The essence of the book, the writing, at least as far as poetics are concerned - is the ability to tell a good story.
But what makes a good story?
Windows in the World - Andrew Peterson
As far as I can tell, the best stories began not with the intention of the writer to create something profound or striking, but with simple snapshots. The author is given mere pictures: not grand plots, grand summaries, though those are being written as well, but enough to inform the author that there is something here that must be conveyed. And they will not always be pictures of knights slaying dragons or Frodo hefting the ring into Mount Doom (oh, wait, that didn't happen anyway...). No; with this snapshot-method, writing becomes less and less about concocting the most fantastical plots and the most striking heroes. It may accomplish those things, but in a roundabout fashion: by finding beauty and newness - or renewness, if you will - in the small, seemingly insignificant glimpses from everyday life of things as they one day will be.
The writer who begins with snapshots must surrender, as Chesterton surrendered (indeed, as Christ surrendered), the notion that only the things that seem great in our eyes are capable of great beauty, or worthy of celebration. On lowly ones He bends his eye... ordinary, even mean, things - worthy of extraordinary celebration: marriage, Christ feeding His people in the sacrament of communion, morning's light burning through clouds, the timeworn story of a hero swooping in to save the day... We have seen these so many times perhaps we begin to despise them, or think them insignificant or ordinary, forgetting their source. All these are as shadows, as silhouettes through a dark glass, of the same story - indeed, the only story that conveys real truth and beauty.
The snapshot-writer has got to see that - at least the beauty and truth, though many have done so and misappropriated the source. As redeemed snapshot-writers, there is the accompanying, unshakable recognition that these are not all that they are on this side of the world. These snapshots are a peephole into unutterable beauty and truth. Our feet are not strong enough yet, but someday we will be able to see all the reality behind the shadows - and oh, we long for that day! It is our job as writers not to contrive but to exploit that longing; to recognize those things on this side of glory and then - ah, the joy! - to struggle with words until they pull us along into that renewed perspective: Yes, this is a window into something glorious, and I am on the outside - but not for long - not for long...
It's the way the clouds are burning from the angle of the light
As the earth is slowly turning you to meet it.
And you're watching at your window at the ending of the night -
It's as plain as day, so any fool could see:
It's a window in the world.
And it takes a lot of practice to develop that perspective....
I really like this! Thought-provoking.
And the song; so pretty! That wouldn't be the AUTHOR Andrew Peterson, would it? :)
~ Mirriam
Oh, I wish I'd thought of that! (Not that I've done this question, but when I get around to it I shan't steal from you.) I did think of the ethereal beauty this song talks about in conjunction with Leah from The Soldier's Cross, but it didn't come to mind when I looked at the question about a song dealing with writing. It really hits the nail on the head when you think about what stories ought to be.
But then, you're always hitting the nail on the head...
Indeed, Miss E - and I don't think one can be intentional about it without Christ. That is, the pagan writers get it by accident; the Christian writers, not by striving after an effect or an illusion or a style, even, but by simply forcing their minds and hearts to look for Christ as Master over nature, art, beauty, truth... everything. It's like Lewis and joy; once the perspective itself becomes the end, it slips through the fingers. It has to come as a byproduct of a greater end. Poetics should just be the product of Christians being who God created them to be. We are not plundering a literary Egypt; this is our possession to begin with.
Mirriam, if you mean Andrew Peterson of Wingfeather Saga fame, then yes - this is that Andrew Peterson. His songs are definitely worth a listen; they shine even more brightly than his stories, which are gems themselves.
Abigail, the funny thing about that is these are nails far beyond my reach. I couldn't hope to swing at them and even get close without standing on the shoulders of somebody else. In this instance, they were those of some writer (whose name escapes me, naturally - it might have been Sidney) who described the invention of stories as part of the unworking of the Fall. Of course, the writers themselves are fallen, but they can wrench images of good things around to greater clarity in their own creations than the philosopher and the historian, because they are not limited to the histories and efforts of fallen mankind, who will always fall short of exemplifying ideals and principles. Of course our characters will too - they are only windows, but they are getting closer, at least.
I don't know that I agree with the notion that fiction can impart greater clarity than philosophy or history, if only because the former is an attempt, however sincere or well grounded, by human, finite authors to convey the world as we think it might be, and the latter two are studies of what God is actually doing.
This is not to say, however, that there isn't great value in reading (and writing) those searching, pondering attempts to see through that dark glass and into the light that awaits on the other side. Mark Helprin is the master at this; if you've not read any of his work I highly recommend him. The Pacific, a collection of his short stories, is a good place to start.
A few posts down you describe a rangy adventure steeped in mystery. Out of curiosity, may I ask (and if I'm being too forward feel free to roll up a newspaper), are you employing this window technique there? In what way?
Hey, Anna! I've just awarded you over on my blog! I don't usually do awards, but... :)
~ Mirriam