Blow it up

I recently sent a draft of an essay about swimming to a good friend from graduate school. Her response was positive--she liked the language and the pacing, but she also suggested it was time to "explode" the piece. She was encouraging me to question the structure, go deeper into the sensory and emotional detail of experience, to blow open feelings, ideas, and themes to see what was hiding beneath the surface. 

Confession: my first reaction to feedback is always a little kid, arms-crossed harrumph kind of resistance. Even after decades of getting feedback, the first feeling is a little sting, like a shot in the arm. Similarly, once the hurt passes, I am energized. Even as I felt resistance to her input, I knew in my gut she was right. 

Some of you may be asking, what in the heck does that mean? How do you just "blow it up"? For me, it starts with creating a new version of the document and then giving myself permission to do whatever I want--move things around, delete things, merge sentences and ideas, go on long explorations of simple ideas to see if something new comes up. I think of it as a food fight with words, with the prayer that at some point, a recipe for a new delicious dish will emerge.

If you're skeptical, I get it. How could exploding make something clearer instead of messier? I believe this year offers an answer to that question. If 2020 has shown us anything, it's that we have to take it apart, down to the studs, in order to get to the truth and clarity of who we are, what we believe, what we are trying to say. I feel confident that what feels like destruction and loss will one day make way for growth. And in revision, dismantling allows deep looks into the hidden corners where the truth lies. And yes, it does require faith and fortitude.

Here's another reason I'm thinking about explosion: after almost 7 years at UNC, I am leaving my job to pursue writing, teaching, editing, and coaching full-time. Am I scared? Sure. Excited? Hell yeah. I don't know exactly what the future will bring, but sometimes you can't find out until something detonates. 

I realize the days we're living in don't feel that hopeful, that many of you are reading this and thinking, but also when things explode, your face might get blown off. I get it--I'm scared too. It's been a helluva year, and the last few weeks seem to be pushing us deeper into some inescapable hole. But we're still here, scraping by. And if we keep sticking together, supporting each other, we will survive, and one day thrive (yup, I still believe that). To all of you reading, to all of you who've joined any of my offerings and shared your stories, please accept my sincerest gratitude. Your presence and energy inspire me, and you have, perhaps unknowingly, helped me take this important, meaningful step.

If you need some creative connection, Writing Through Crisis starts October 6th, and Short Fiction Seminar picks up October 24th. Another memoir class will be starting soon. Stories can save us. Or maybe what I mean is stories have saved me. I hope you are finding salvation somewhere, and when the time is right, the courage to blow things up. 

J.