When I was a child my grandmother took my brother and me
to watch local children's puppet shows. Although my brother loved these
productions, I absolutely dreaded them.
For some reason, the stuffy, small theater filled with squirming kids did not appeal to me. I also found the marionettes disturbing, for their faces were distorted like caricatures; their body movements seemed contrived; and their souls were spiritless—trapped in a thin and meaningless storyline. Early on I realized, oddly enough, all the characters' voices sounded the same. I sat amongst the other children wondering to myself: Am I the only kid here who knows the puppeteer is the voice for all the characters?
Then after each production the puppeteer dramatically unveiled himself to us children and rather ceremoniously demonstrated how he manipulated each character with strings and wires. I always left disappointed, for I felt as if the entire presentation was more about the puppeteer and less about the characters and their stories. I wanted more stories!
For some reason when I began writing two years ago, I remembered that puppeteer and his marionettes subconsciously becoming afraid of infusing too much of myself into my stories. So, I guarded my writing, fearing my ego would manipulate my characters to the point that both they and the storyline were rendered meaningless.
Ironically, guarding myself against my ego jeopardized my creativity; I soon felt just like the puppeteer, controlling my characters through simple dialogue, weak scenes, and less than compelling storylines. More often than not my characters—like the marionettes—were rigid and distorted, lacking souls and motivation, hopelessly trapped on a small stage, static and weakened by their creator and manipulator.
Over time I realized that I actually needed to put more of myself into my writing. Of course, my work didn't need to be a literal version of my life. I soon found ways to metaphorically transform my life into another time, another place, and into an array of characters. Subtly infusing my personality and life's experiences into my characters gave each of them a soul and unique voice. Meaningful storylines soon followed.
So, I learned a truly valuable writing lesson: The very thing I am afraid to write about (whatever it is) oftentimes is exactly what I must write about—it's what makes my writing come alive.
For some reason, the stuffy, small theater filled with squirming kids did not appeal to me. I also found the marionettes disturbing, for their faces were distorted like caricatures; their body movements seemed contrived; and their souls were spiritless—trapped in a thin and meaningless storyline. Early on I realized, oddly enough, all the characters' voices sounded the same. I sat amongst the other children wondering to myself: Am I the only kid here who knows the puppeteer is the voice for all the characters?
Then after each production the puppeteer dramatically unveiled himself to us children and rather ceremoniously demonstrated how he manipulated each character with strings and wires. I always left disappointed, for I felt as if the entire presentation was more about the puppeteer and less about the characters and their stories. I wanted more stories!
For some reason when I began writing two years ago, I remembered that puppeteer and his marionettes subconsciously becoming afraid of infusing too much of myself into my stories. So, I guarded my writing, fearing my ego would manipulate my characters to the point that both they and the storyline were rendered meaningless.
Ironically, guarding myself against my ego jeopardized my creativity; I soon felt just like the puppeteer, controlling my characters through simple dialogue, weak scenes, and less than compelling storylines. More often than not my characters—like the marionettes—were rigid and distorted, lacking souls and motivation, hopelessly trapped on a small stage, static and weakened by their creator and manipulator.
Over time I realized that I actually needed to put more of myself into my writing. Of course, my work didn't need to be a literal version of my life. I soon found ways to metaphorically transform my life into another time, another place, and into an array of characters. Subtly infusing my personality and life's experiences into my characters gave each of them a soul and unique voice. Meaningful storylines soon followed.
So, I learned a truly valuable writing lesson: The very thing I am afraid to write about (whatever it is) oftentimes is exactly what I must write about—it's what makes my writing come alive.
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