A metaphor I often use for the writing process is transubstantiation.
In Christianity, transubstantiation is the belief that the bread and wine used during communion is transformed into the literal body and blood of Christ. Through prayer, the ordinary is transformed into something holy.
And what is writing? Authors draw from deep wells of personal pain and uncertainty and marshal those vicissitudes into a narrative that illuminates a murky darkness. Through the meditation of the writing process, a painful past or a terrifying present or even just a confusing rumbling can be reordered into a bright new peace. Given physical form in an object that can serve as a point of pride.
Ordinary pain or uncertainty, transformed into something approaching holiness. And by publishing and sharing, we allow others to partake in that communion.
I’m not a sanguine person when bad things happen. I don’t think tribulations happen for a reason, nor do I believe in the comforting fiction of cosmic justice. Sometimes there are no silver linings. Sometimes the bad guys are never punished. Sometimes moral ugliness, when stared in the face, is just ugliness.
I do, however, believe in free will. So, when faced with a trial, the question then becomes: What do you do about it?
Well, we write.
The type of person who writes can’t help but see through the dark mist of the present to the promised lands beyond. We yearn to shine spotlights in dark corners. Even when our aim is escapism, we still must employ empathy–that critically endangered currency–to create plausible new worlds.
Writing changes the writer for the better. It can turn pain into pride, uncertainty into understanding. If that were the entirety of the enterprise, it would still be worth it.
But by pointing the writing process outward, by publishing, we take readers by the hand to unknown places they badly need to see. We show people what can be learned from the past and what might still exist. We help people escape their terrifying realities.
Writers orient the world’s compasses toward north stars hidden in cloudy skies. Beacons of light that prove to those huddled in the darkness that they’re not alone.
Let’s continue to point the way forward.
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Art: Ship in the early morning fog by Caspar David Friedrich
Elisse Gabriel says
Great piece! I just shared it with my writing group.
Nathan Bransford says
Thank you for sharing!
Patty Yackanich says
Such a fabulously expressed and written article. Serious food for thought.
Thanks so much for such deep insights.
Nathan Bransford says
I’m glad you enjoyed it!