Lit Salon Unveils WITD's Latest Feature, With A Beautiful Essay by Jocelyn Lovelle, Including Jocelyn's Author's Note & Thoughts on the Editorial Process
Jocelyn! Jeannine! I’m astonished by how quickly you pulled this together!!
This piece is glorious. And it has staying power. I’ve been thinking of it since I read it last week. (I was too sick to comment then, but happily I’ve recovered enough to comment now.)
My favourite sentence and image is this: “First, we lined up our shoulder blades and spines, and then our hips, and finally our feet, so that the bones in my 10-year-old-body met the bones in her 70-year-old-body in all the same places.” In. all. the. same. places. Just, wow.
I absolutely love your grandmother’s voice with the, “Come on in, Babydoll. Let’s get back to back.” I feel a loving easygoingness and affection in her words. What a presence.
Everything about the sex scene is chef’s kiss. How efficiently you describe the transaction and the tension/distance between you with “him needing reassurance, release, me needing to please”, and the whole notion of sexual currency. I keep thinking of “the small fire burning your skin” - that carpet burn detail is so precise. I also really love reading your thoughts. It’s interior, but it shows us how disconnected and disassociated you are. “My voice making encouraging sounds” - just the remove of this observation! Then there’s the foreshadowing of feeling something but not enough.
And the food! I really, really loved the food! The cracked crab with melted butter and good Chardonnay. And later, “there was no cracked crab, but ahi pulled out of the ocean” - what a brilliant way to show the passage of time, geography and culture! You’ve inspired me to remember to bring food into my writing.
I admire how the bed serves as the container for the story, and an earned metaphor for how you handled your relationship. “I didn’t set out to betray my mother’s request by giving the bed away.” Just like you didn’t set out to betray your marriage vows. Spectacular. Then the last sentence, and how it it ties back to the intro, is so satisfying.
And the title! I love the title. I’m curious how it came about. Was this always your title, or did Jeannine suggest it? It feels very Jeannine :) It’s delicious because “The Game Was To Guess the Words” is a line from the piece, but it doubles as another earned metaphor for you gradually letting yourself hear, and understand, the lyrics of the song of your life.
Thank you both for sharing the process of how this came together. Just a beautiful read all around.
This is such a beautiful reflection, Monika, on Jocelyn's gorgeous, affecting essay (which I love and which, as you know, inspired this whole new endeavor with its brilliance). The title was a suggestion of mine, I asked Jocelyn's permission to send some ideas, and this is the one we both liked best. I am getting more and more and more keen on the importance of titles.
Close reading is a new practice for me, so it was hard to read this gorgeous piece by Jocelyn and not be taken in by the words and story alone. The mahogany bed felt like a physical anchor that kept you grounded generationally and was the thread of love woven through. When you let go of the bed I felt relief, that you freed yourself from the constraints yet not the love that is the true grounding. I can imagine the editorial process was vulnerable and how blessed with such a loving teacher. Thank you for sharing your story and an example of great writing.
Thank you, Paulette, I so appreciate your lovely words. I love how you notice it's a thread of love and I love this, "When you let go of the bed I felt relief," that's incredible, because that's the feeling, subconsciously, I wanted to convey. Thank you for your reading and sharing of how it was for you! xo
Jocelyn, it’s brought to mind an armoire of my Grandmother’s that I’ve moved across states a few times. And the emotions are triggered around keeping it or letting it go. I’m going to reread your piece and see if it brings me clarity.
Oh my. I can feel that it's a heavy piece, literally and metaphorically for you. I would love to know if you get any clarity around whether to keep it or let it go. Big love to you. ❤️
Thank you for this beautiful piece of writing, Jocelyn. Reading it amongst the chaos of the end of a long weekend, my kids in various states of disarray, the house being put back together, was a perfect pause ❤️❤️❤️❤️
Jocelyn! This piece is absolutely stunning! I think I will carry the images from it in my mind for a while. I could relate to much of it myself. I am still trying to find words to tell you how much I loved reading this beautiful story of love, loss, change, the things we carry with us, the things we leave behind, and the obligations that people put on us that we think are our responsibility to take care of even in places designed for rest and renewal. Thank you for sharing this piece with us.
Also, I was fascinated to read about the way the story developed, how it came to pass, and how you overcame the feelings being uncomfortable with being able to tell the story. Of course learning about how the editing process felt for you was also fascinating.
Jeannine, thank you for your generosity in to share the writing of others in your Lit Salon. It truly is a gift to read the work of others and to learn how you masterfully help to shape the work of writers.
Oh Sally, this is just so beautiful. "I think I will carry the images from it in my mind for a while." mmmm. that just really got me.
this: "the things we carry with us, the things we leave behind, and the obligations that people put on us that we think are our responsibility to take care of even in places designed for rest and renewal." yes yes yes
"Also, I was fascinated to read about the way the story developed, how it came to pass, and how you overcame the feelings being uncomfortable with being able to tell the story. Of course learning about how the editing process felt for you was also fascinating." I'm so happy this was helpful for you. It was fun and illuminating to think about it for myself and then to get it down in words for others. xo
Jocelyn, honestly, those images! They were so powerful. I would love to be able to leave such images in the minds of my readers. I think doing so takes being so vulnerable and honest and it takes not being afraid to share on the page in black and white print what actually happened and how we felt about what happened. It takes not being afraid of what others will think about us if we share those parts of ourselves on the page. Bravo to you for being able to do that.
Sally, this is just so lovely. Thank you for such kind words about my writing. It really means the world to me. I could not have written this a year ago, or maybe even a few months ago. I didn't know how to get to the specific details, and Jeannine is just such a beautiful teacher of that. And then this community, you included, are so supportive and loving and vulnerable yourselves, that I felt comfortable enough to share it here. xoxxo
I love hearing that too, because great teachers made ALL the difference for me--they really saved me. If I can ever be a great teacher for anyone, at any stage of life, I am paying it back and paying it forward. What could be better?!
There is so much to love and appreciate here!! All I can say is that I want to read the novel/ memoir! I wanted to know more, and spend more time with you Jocelyn and this story. And what a perfect ending!
Also, a moment to acknowledge Jeannine and this incredibly generous project. I feel so much richer for having read this. Thank you to you both!! Just stunning.
ohmygosh you just said the words! "There is so much to love and appreciate here!! All I can say is that I want to read the novel/ memoir!" eeeeeeeee! I've been wanting to write a memior/collection of essays for nearly as long as I can remember, probably since discovering Joan Didion in my first semester of college. So thank you thank you for this!!!! xoxoxo
This is so incredibly beautiful. You know those meditations where you are a leaf floating along the river or a boat or whatever form the facilitator puts you in? This felt like moving through a huge timeline of life, floating on the boat that is that 4 post bed, drifting from time to time over to the edge for a glimpse of memory that was in HD rather than old timey home video. Vibrant, real, resonant. I also loved picking out the exercises that this emerged from.
And then the reflection on the editorial process allowed me to process some thoughts I had about the word 'revision.' Maybe this is a deeper conversation or post for another place, but it got me to thinking about revising as a process of distilling and expanding upon the heart or multiple hearts (like an octopus) of a piece, getting intimate with the essence of the story and playing with different ways of putting words to an experience until a comfy fit is found. I'm suddenly finding myself looking at 'revision' and 'editing' so differently. Both of which I have long associated with perfectionism and grammar, the confines of 'acceptable' writing. I think my unlearning here is that the perfectionism gets in the way of my process way too early on, and that I can trust myself to attend to the grammar at the end of the process.
Ohmygosh I wrote a whole long reply to this and now it's gone. Sigh. Thank you for that gorgeous analogy, Cassidy! And I love that this whole thread has shifted your lens on editing and revisions and has brought back permission to play and as you beautifully said, get intimate with the essence. Oh how I love that!
I think your other reply is still here- it's just a weird substack glitch that happens to me too, I press post and then my comment disappears until I refresh! Getting intimate with essence might just be it's whole own exploratory piece I'll work on!
ooooohhh this is so lovely and beautiful, I love your realization and new lens on revising and editing. So much yes to play and getting intimate with the essence!
and thank you for that gorgeous analogy. The bed floating us through time. Thank you thank you!
If you already can create clarity from your other writing then you already know revision is about taking stuff out almost often than putting stuff in. George Saunders describes his process as a playful extraction of words in each phrase just to see what happens to the shape and meaning. He describes this as simply using your taste- see what appeals to you in a playful way rather then judging way while giving yourself all the benefit of the doubt like you would a dear friend.
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Emily Levin
7 mins ago
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In my comment about George Saunders I think I am really describing editing , not revision then. But it is still about being loose and playful, perhaps blurring your eyes a bit to see what is possible as you revise. But understand the now, what. Jeanine asked me lots of questions about a snippet which opened possibilities for deepening and discovering what I was writing around or toward and this was very very helpful.
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Jeannine Ouellette
2 mins ago
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I think you are describing both--and I know George Saunders essay on What Writers Really Do When They Write nearly by heart and follow him religiously, and I know that what you are describing is, for him, absolutely part of line-level revision, which can help us actually get to the *heart* of the story, too. It's not just moving something here, taking something out there. It's about meaning, because meaning can live in granular details. There is ALSo the part where we just kind of wrestle the whole thing apart, like really really throw it all up into the air and catch what we can on the way down, push it and pull it and remove gigantic swaths of it. That's big revision. But the other kind that you described, if done with the intention George Saunders brings to it, and that I also practice, can be revision. We did that with Jocelyn's piece and, though it was subtle, it did sharpen the meaning. We call that an editorial process I guess because it's the jargon of the industry, but granular work toward refining meaning does enter the territory of revision. You know what I mean? Oh, yes, you do. I already know!
Cassidy, yes -- yes to this (all of it), and re revision, all the yesses, but I also want to say that it's not at all about the grammar. I am going to copy a thing I just wrote in response to Emily! We need to have an intensive on revision, I think.
That's right. I mean, grammar can be really beautiful because it can be used to amplify meaning. Or create rhythm and beauty in the sound of the language (which also creates meaning, indirectly). That's the point of grammar. Not rules. Beauty.
What a wild revelation! My inner child is simultaneously rejoicing and grieving. I wonder if my younger creative self would have been capable of receiving that wisdom in the way that I am now. Either way, I'm very grateful to have found your teaching now.
Jocelyn, your essay is so very engaging! The flow, the transition of time is approachable and comfortable. I especially like how you went from one year, two, five then eight. Using the bed throughout was also very effective. I wonder what the bed would say about its own life if it could talk. What was it witness to throughout its long life?
You convey a wide range of emotion through your choice of language - using concrete, specific details - knowing what to say, and knowing what’s best left unsaid. I aspire to be this type of writer. And as I continue to work with Jeannie’s lessons, it will come in time.
I experienced several versions of you in
this piece. The young girl you, tender and playful, in bed with her grandmother and bestie; the young adult you, detached from herself-both in spirit and body-on the floor in the oh so relatable and vulnerable sex scene; the experienced, mature world-traveler you, no longer content to live “a storybook life”, no longer willing to betray herself-as you admit you don’t want to be married. And this line “And the messages sent so long ago from my grandmother's heart, from my friend's fingertips, would finally be freed from the confines of wood and sadness and history”…just WOW! Beautiful way to bring us back to the start!
Thank you for sharing your process in writing this piece - how it started, how you let the line from the poem Making a Fist ‘pull you and pour through you’, how it grew organically from the first two paragraphs. I admire how you sat with it, didn’t give up, questioned your heart and allowed yourself to hear and feel your hearts response. Beautiful! Your essay and process has inspired me to listen more carefully to my own silent whispers, to not throw in the towel when the writing gets uncomfortable. Your essay underscores how the efficient use of the correct words makes a heartfelt impact.
Jeannie, thank you so very much for this new version of Lit Salon! It’s helpful to be a fly on the wall to a fellow writer’s process and see how a story is born! I can’t say enough about your generosity, how you continue to expand your offerings on Substack, all with the desire help your subscribers be the best version of their writing selves. So looking forward to your 6/27 Zoom class followed by your six week series and then summer camp next year!!
thank you Lisa! this" I especially like how you went from one year, two, five then eight." i'm so glad you liked that. I wondered if it worked the way I wanted it to. And yes! i would love to know what that bed has to say. Who is it with now? where is it?
And just wow. "I aspire to be this type of writer." I just, that's just. wow. such a huge huge compliment.
Thank you for this "And the messages sent so long ago from my grandmother's heart, from my friend's fingertips, would finally be freed from the confines of wood and sadness and history”…just WOW! Beautiful way to bring us back to the start!" it's one of the lines I worked a lot on, getting the timing and lyricism of it right but also saying what wanted to be said.
And this: "Your essay and process has inspired me to listen more carefully to my own silent whispers, to not throw in the towel when the writing gets uncomfortable." Yes yes yes! that makes me so happy!
You are so very very welcome for all of it. Thank you for reading and sharing what happened for you along the way. It means so much to me.
So much gratitude to Jeannine. And yay! we'll be in the 6/27 class together and the camp next year!
Well this is just a beautiful response, Lisa. And I am glad you can write with us on 6/27, yay! I don't have the whole roster in my head yet, so every time I hear someone is coming I'm happily surprised anew, like groundhog's day, ha. And as for the 6-session course -- I am so looking forward to that, as well. Though it won't, we think, be 6 weeks ... stay tuned for the details! Billie and I are meeting at the end of May to finalize the architecture of that experience so that it can be truly rich, alive, and sustainable. I have a pretty good sense of it, having taught WITD synchronous since 2020, but this is a really great moment to re-imagine, and in a way that is specific to our community here. Again, I am so excited. And as for Camp, just !!!!!!!
Jocelyn, I was so happy to see your name under the first WITD LIT SALON essay this morning!!! I have an image of you sitting on your bed, not with a computer, paper or pen, but with a giant bowl of words, handcrafted from hard clay. You dump them onto a cookie sheet, and painstakingly shift the words around, as if puzzle pieces that are meant to fit just right, and never forced. Your oven has transformed into a giant kiln, ready to fire your essay, making it solid and sturdy. This is how stories live, long after we are gone. You are forged in the fire, forever a beacon of authenticity and truth. Although our corporeal vessels will eventually be reunited with the earth, our words are everlasting.
Oh my Goodness, can you see into my soul? I often see the words and sentences like tiles, like
puzzle pieces or Rummikub tiles - do you know that game? I was always the best in my family at it - I could hold the patterns I wanted to create in my head. And I did use to sit in that very bed and make jewelry out of my grandmother's old pieces that she'd give me. And I often used a tray to do it, so the beads didn't spill everywhere. HOW DID YOU KNOW? 😉
Regardless of your accuracy in seeing into my head, your description is just gorgeous. " a giant bowl of words, handcrafted from hard clay." I mean, just wow.
And this, "You are forged in the fire, forever a beacon of authenticity and truth." jeez, woman, that's just some beauty right there.
It was my pleasure to read your beautifully authentic writing. Honestly, I don’t think I’ve ever made a comment like this one; imagining what someone else is doing as they write. That’s what popped into my head so I just wrote it down, thinking it was a metaphor. I consider myself an empath; I can feel other people’s emotions if I’m in the same room with them. Psychic, I wish! I’m just happy that you feel my words are the compliment they were intended to be. 🥰🥰
Ooooh that makes it even more magical! I'm so glad you wrote it down and shared it with me. Another way of being seen and seeing. ;) I'm an empath too, I feel the humans and the other animals, even bugs and reptiles. I did feel your words, thank you so much!❤️
Oh my this is just stunning. Thank you so much for sharing this essay. I remember reading the original snippet in week 5 and being swept away by its tenderness. I'm so glad you expanded on it, what a beautiful job you have done. So inspiring!
So many images that struck a chord deep within but most of all this sentence: "thinking about wanting to be where I was, but not knowing how." Just wow.
I just reread this and was so moved my your words: " I remember reading the original snippet in week 5 and being swept away by its tenderness" thank you thank you.
Thank you, Flavia. I love hearing that you read the original snippet and that you liked what I did with it! And thank you for pointing this out: "So many images that struck a chord deep within but most of all this sentence: "thinking about wanting to be where I was, but not knowing how." I wasn't sure if that would convey what I wanted, but apparently, yes! It did!
This process is so beautiful, to hear what resonated and worked and gave chills and how and why it did all of that is just such a gift.
So much of this brought me back to that feeling of being young, in bed, grandma, Amber, once-husband.
The bed as the object used as she moves through her emotional life.
And THIS line
I could see her feet, swollen and ugly, covered with purple and blue veins. But in bed, where only the feel of them existed, my grandmother’s feet felt like home.
So much to say.
Keeping promises, staying longer than she wants to. Uncertain of what “wanting” is.
I love that it brought you back to being young, Jeneane. That's so powerful and special - and that's what the early comments said and what moved me to keep writing on it. Those memories from my childhood of feeling safe and loved, because the majority of my childhood memories are of the opposite.
and yes! the bed as object. I didn't know that was what was going to happen, but I loved it, once it started!
Oh yes, the uncertainty of what "wanting" is - THAT is a gorgeous way to put that.
I would love for you to share more of what resonated, what you saw or felt or what worked, what else can you pull out? I'd love to hear it!
I used to draw pictures on backs with my sister. It’s such a close and intimate part of childhood for those of us who shared a bed. We had a canopy, amongst so much external domestic violence, my sisters and my bed sharing felt safe. Your piece, brought that back front and center.
The thread and theme of choice and choosing seemed ever present.
She shared a bed with grandma. ( it’s what she did-want or not), she brought the bed into her married life, (did she want to?) and later mom put upon her a promise (about the bed). She had sex with a man who wanted and needed, but did our narrator answer the want out of duty? I think the message is she was asked and was wanted but that’s not the same as her wanting.
Later she chooses to let go of the bed. She begins to shift into her own autonomy. Her choices become clearer and her wants start to emerge.
She is asked finally at the end of what she wants and she has the courage to say what she doesn’t want.
It’s what came through for me, but I could also be totally wrong. As a therapist and an advocate for women - I saw a thread of differentiation. How as she developed she became more and more certain around her own empowerment.
It was truly such a beautiful way to move through time. My own writing struggles around time crunching. I have difficulty with how to say it and skip through time. Your grounding your reader with the bed was incredibly helpful as a way to move and then finally showing us that letting go of the bed also allowed her to let go of other things /relationships that aren’t serving her any longer.
Thank you for being willing to share and teach us through your processes. 🙏🏼
It _is_ such a close and intimate part of childhood. I hadn't thought of it in _years_ until this exercise. And I'm finding that working with Jeannine and everyone in this beautiful group is helping me remember pleasant and lovely things from my childhood, and I haven't had access to much of my childhood memories for as long as I can remember. Thank you for sharing that about your childhood. 🙏
I'm wondering if you wanted the essay to answer these questions better: "she shared a bed with grandma. ( it’s what she did-want or not, she brought the bed into her married life, (did she want to?)" I'm curious if there could have been more detail here or if you were lost or wanting more here. ❤️
This: "The thread and theme of choice and choosing seemed ever present." It is, isn't it. I didn't intend it that way, but it came through.
This too: " think the message is she was asked, and wanted but that’s not the same as wanting." yes, exactly.
"Later she chooses to let go of the bed. She begins to shift into her own autonomy. Her choices become clearer and her wants start to emerge." YES!
Thank you for the lovely compliment on moving through time. I said this somewhere else on this thread, but ever since reading "Wild" I've been wanting to understand how she included so much of her life by using the thread of the trail as her anchor. I wasn't trying to experiment with that here, it's just what happened. Like after years of reading and re-reading memoirs and "Wild" specifically - I've picked that book apart, I absorbed something subconsciously.
You are so welcome and I am so happy and honored to share the work and the process! Ask any more questions you have. xoxoxo
I didn’t have questions, I was more breaking down the parts and looking through the thread to share with you what I saw. All the questions were answered by the end of your essay… she made choices toward her own autonomy. 💕
I love how much support you are receiving. How you anchored your story much like Wild. Bravo
ooooh that is just the best thing I could hear. I'm so happy you're inspired. And i love this, "looking through the thread to share what I saw" so yummy. Thank you thank you.
Thank you! And that last line...I have to give credit where it's due, that last line was inspired and requested by Jeannine - fabulous, gentle, insightful, magical, editor that she is. I questioned whether to end it on the line of my response, and left it that way when I submitted. She offered that one more "beautiful" line that summed up my experience in the now could really work. She also left it all up to me, whether I wanted to change any single thing or not. I wasn't sure, but I tried several new lines on at the end and finally settled on the one you see now. I think it just takes the essay one step deeper and I am so grateful for Jeannine's guidance!
Thank you for being such a thoughtful writer, sitting with suggestions for as long as you needed in order to feel your way through them toward your own destination. That’s really what the editorial process is about, and why it can matter so much in our growth as writers. It’s too bad there are fewer and fewer opportunities for writers to experience editorial processes, besides hiring editors. There’s something a little bit different about an editor who already chose your work—who already said yes, and then working with you to see it again. It’s a little bit different than hiring someone. And I say that as someone people hire, so I am not saying hired editors are a bad thing! It’s the only access a lot of writers have to editors. It’s just different.
You made it easy to do that. And yes, I love the nuanced difference between an editor who has chosen the work and one who is editing from the outside. I think there are benefits to both, in this case, it was the beautiful in that it was us working together to create something from both of us--on my part the writing, on your part the shepherding of the writing into this new, beautiful space you're creating to hold the writing of others, and on both our parts the finished thing, which is so much bigger than any of the parts.
And I'm using the phrase "as long as you needed" pretty loosely, considering how fast we queued this up! You took as long as you needed within the time available, and that's a really good metaphor for all of our creative processes. If we lived by it consistently, oh, the things we could do.
Jocelyn, what you've done here makes me think of ice skating, which, when done well, looks easy--but even the simplest things are really hard to do. And it's really easy to fall on your face! I found myself nodding as I've read through the other comments: yes, yes, yes, I agree! And I'll add this: I really admire all that you don't say in this piece. I admire the restraint. There is a clear string running through all the parts, but you don't draw our attention to it. You let us feel it more than see it, until you pull it tight at the end. It really happened for me here: "It was as we left that house that I finally left the four-poster bed, glaze cracked from age and storage and heat and moisture, pruny, like skin submerged too long under water." Without that sentence, the declaration of wanting to leave the marriage might not have worked for me; I might have been surprised by it. But that bed feels like both a thing that's held you and you've outgrown (as the very next sentence that follows tells us) and, in some sense, the bed is also you. It's easy to see how you, too, might be cracked and pruny and too long submerged. I really appreciate how all that you didn't say gives us space to make those connections, but at the same time, the ending lets us know that the sense we've been making is the one you intended. It was just the right amount of telling for me.
Rita thank you so so much for sharing! And for the kind words. It was absolutely a piece about only telling the exact parts that needed telling - and the bed was such a wonderful guardrail for that. I am going to play around with this more (and it sounds like maybe Jeannine is going to give us some object prompts - i hope!) because it did really help me see, after I'd put all the pieces in, how much was left out, but how rich the soil was in such a limited amount of words.
And thank you so much for pointing this out: " It really happened for me here: "It was as we left that house that I finally left the four-poster bed, glaze cracked from age and storage and heat and moisture, pruny, like skin submerged too long under water." Without that sentence, the declaration of wanting to leave the marriage might not have worked for me; I might have been surprised by it. But that bed feels like both a thing that's held you and you've outgrown (as the very next sentence that follows tells us) and, in some sense, the bed is also you. It's easy to see how you, too, might be cracked and pruny and too long submerged." so much yes. the bed is totally also me, pruny, held under water too long, unable to breath, outgrown, all those things. I'm so glad that wasn't too subtle as to be totally lost, but also glad it wasn't too obvious. that line made it in in a much later revision before I submitted it and it felt very important, but I'm not even sure I knew why at the time. Having other writers and readers tell me what they heard, saw, felt, understood about this piece is so valuable - and delightful!
Oh my gosh I wish I had mentioned the restraint in my opening note about this piece--I am going to go back and add that immediately!!!!! GAH it was one of the things I felt and loved instantly in this work. Be right back hahaha gotta go edit the post ....
I think you did, didn't you? Maybe constraint? What I love is that I did not even know that was a thing in writing until a few weeks ago when you gave us a prompt for it!
I have said a lot about "constraint" here, but less about "restraint," though I have talked about restraint (which is also related to exteriority, embodiment, and the balance of showing vs telling, as well as the beauty of white space and a craft practice called "playing the rests" which is CENTRAL to flash, and, your piece, given its length, would be technically flash, though the structure is really unique for flash, because you cover so much time, which is hard in flash, and which I did point out in the intro! BOTH constraints (which are tools, and my exercises use them almost all the time) and restraint (which is a craft choice, something we can do on purpose on the page, it's about what we don't say) are central principles in my teaching. I have to keep track of some of this stuff for a future post, and for the shared vocab of the synchronous WITD thing in the fall.
Oh, I should say that the language we choose can also be a kind of constraint AND can show restraint, as your language definitely did. So there's always some fun overlap in these concepts.
Oh my gosh Rita, I do it ALL THE TIME, I make dozens of small updates to published pieces on Substack, I mean, why not, it's my newsletter. This allows me the permission to publish as quickly and frequently as I do without being in a constant state of paralysis and agony over not getting it exactly how I want it. I consider these pieces evergreen, we push them in the Curriculum Index, so if there's a typo or, in this case, a more substantial thing I want to add or rearrange, I do it immediately. I already made the edit on this piece based on your comment, because I can't believe I forgot to mention the restraint! Something, by the way, you are also incredible with in your work, so I am not at all surprised that you saw it! If this WITD space is going to continue growing as the incredible literary salon that it clearly already is, these are the kinds of conversations that make it so. And they're SO MUCH MORE VALUABLE than sitting around "critiquing" people's work--gah, I wish we could retire that model already.
And this: "This allows me the permission to publish as quickly and frequently as I do without being in a constant state of paralysis and agony over not getting it exactly how I want it." just so much power here.
Now I am so curious to read more of your work....I actually stopped myself mid sentence and read your piece, "Counting Them All." Just so lovely. I left you a comment too. xoxo
I really needed to see this today, as I'm continuing to tinker with an essay I've been working on for more than two weeks and haven't published anything on my newsletter for even more! And I am SO WITH YOU on critique! That model had so much to do with why I never did an MFA program. I learn so much from focusing on what a writer is doing, on what I can see in it that works, rather than trying to think about what would make it better. I love that the conversations here are all about that.
And to be transparent, I DO think we find insights into what might make a work better by focusing very intently on what is working and why, but it's a different portal, a more invested one, a more attentive one, a more devoted to the work itself one, with a real allegiance to listening in for what a work might be trying to become, and therefore a much truer one, than by trying to say, "here's what works, here's what doesn't" as if it is ever that simple.
It's a kinder and more nurturing one, too--and therefore more effective, if the whole point is to create good writing. We can't write well if we can't tell the truth, and we can't tell the truth (especially emerging ones!) unless we feel safe.
Jocelyn, I was so moved by this essay. I remember reading about the mahagony bed in the comments that week of the Visceral Self and what you did with it is a wonder. There was so much I related to, most of all that line at the very end, "I don't want to be married anymore," the words I spoke to my husband of 33 years in September 2022. How beautifully you guided us there. What skillful interweaving of your grandmother's bed and then the four-poster bed. Weaving in the sex was beautifully done--realistic, visceral, touching, a complex coupling, where I could feel the emotions of both partners. Thank you for being brave enough to include that. And it's particularly moving to me that you wrote about your grandmother's bed because yesterday I was watching a series of video interviews with my mother in 2021, when she had just received her diagnosis of vascular dementia, and I knew I had a finite amount of time to capture her memories. And she remembered her childhood bed, a headboard with a rabbit painted onto it. "You know," she said. "I wish I had that bed now. It was my childhood bed." I think, too, of my girlhood bedroom, not the bed so much as this marvelous wallpaper, pink roses and green vines on some of the walls, and green and white striped wallpaper on the other walls. Somehow, it worked. A secret garden to fall asleep in each night, my sister's bed next to mine. Well done, Jocelyn, and I look forward to reading more of your writing, here and on your Substack.
Amy, thank you for sharing so much of yourself in this comment. I love hearing about the parallels in our lives. Wow, 33 years. My first husband and I were married for 14, but we'd been best friends since we were 12, so all told 26 years together. Even if it's what you want, what you need, for me, it was painful and difficult to figure out how to be a separate person. And thank you for your read on the sex scene. I appreciate your insight. It was so challenging to write and to keep in there, for so many reasons, but I felt it was so important.
I love love love hearing about your mother's bed and I'm so sorry you've had to go through that with her.
That wallpaper in the photo of me and my grandmother was in my room all through my childhood. It was gorgeous and so sophisticated. My mother has always had fabulous taste. I can see your wallpaper and how it worked beautifully. and this, "a secret garden to fall asleep in each night, my sister's bed next to mine." I think you have the start of something there if you feel like following it. I for one, want to know more about the girl (s) in this room. big love to you!
Oh my gosh this, this conversation, is the reason for it all--and this comment, ""a secret garden to fall asleep in each night, my sister's bed next to mine." I think you have the start of something there if you feel like following it. I for one, want to know more about the girl (s) in this room" is everything that is good and holy about real writing workshops, like we are building here.
yes yes yes!! this IS the reason for it all, isn't it? The sharing and the unveiling of ourselves to ourselves and then sharing that with others who support and love us on this journey. THAT is such sweetness and visceral living. ❤️
This whole experience today, reading responses, hearing from stalwart editor and brave writer, conjuring personal ghosts and memories- is so moving. Like there’s a shift in our story we are making here together. Just wow.
Yes! I think there IS a shift in the story we are making here together and I love that you pointed this out, but of course you would see it Emily, that is one of your gifts. xoxox
I love how the mahogany bed ties this long thread of time together and the image of you lying back to back and the question at the end. Jocelyn, do you have a lot of experience with editing and revising? I tend to have one burst of inspiration and get swept up in it, but I feel like I don't know how and because of that don't really enjoy/value the editing process beyond like grammar fixes.
Hi Amy, I'm trying to make sure I see every comment and this one got lost in the thread there for a day, but I'm here and I love your question, I think it's such an important one for us writers. First, thank you for the kind words, I love hearing what stood out for you.
As for editing: "do you have a lot of experience with editing and revising?" I'm not sure if I have a lot, but I'll tell you what I do have. ;) I started freelancing in my early 20s right out of college. I did a couple of newspaper articles and then I had the great luck to get hired by a business journal to write pieces for them once or twice a month. These were long, in depth pieces for a very expensive niche publication and I had a great editor there - my first real experience building a relationship with an editor. She gave me honest and clear feedback and was generous and kind. She helped me see how my writing could be stronger and better for her particular purposes, which I gave me an incredible foundation for understanding my audience and for learning to crafting a voice to fit that particular publication or client or audience.
I have also been writing articles and blog posts for my own clients for four years now, and though they are not editing for me, their feedback is similar to editing. With them, I have to be the sole editor and I've gotten used to many revisions.
With my own essays, I still find it challenging to edit without a deadline, which is why I decided to publish weekly and I stick with that. And since I've worked in print, I think it's ingrained in me that it better be as good as I can get it upon publication -- though I love Jeannine's philosophy of giving ourselves permission to edit here on Substack anytime after publication.
But here's the thing I think is sticky about editing, though it's also where the juiciness is:
Editing and revising our own work is uncomfortable.
Writing it out the first time can often be euphoric, or revelatory, or full of release and if we're in that flow state, it comes easily and effortlessly. Even if we're working at it, getting that first draft down is relatively easy compared to reading it again, because in reading it again, we are faced with ourselves and our pain or loss or grief or joy or surprise or whatever. It is a very vulnerable and delicate place and it is not always easy, sitting with ourselves.
And then we are asked as writers, to not just sit with ourselves in our raw outpouring, we're asked to then do something with that rawness, to carve it and cut pieces away (Jeannine has mentioned that editing can be a painful process, because it is cutting pieces of ourselves up or out). We're asked to add things, to dig freaking deeper.
I think that's the hardest and also the most rewarding part of editing and revising. We have to go deeper with ourselves and it is hard f***ing work. I'm not sure that I find editing/revising/rewriting enjoyable, but I do find it gritty and hard and very very satisfying when I work at one line over and over and over and then, finally, that flow comes again and I get to a deeper place, a more real and honest and embodied (thank you thank you Jeannine) place. THAT is the biggest most beautiful thing and it is a very different experience than that first piece of just writing down the bones (as Natalie Goldberg says).
You didn't ask a question here, but you said, "I feel like I don't know how." I feel you here. I often feel like I don't know how. So, this might or might not work for you, but I do the things that help me stay grounded in my non-writing life: meditation, running, yoga, swimming. I get in my body and out of my head. I ask god/universe/source for help. And then I just sit with the piece and ask it to speak to me. What does it need, what more do I need to say? I read it and cringe and sometimes cry and sometimes laugh and all of this usually that gets me to a point where I know what else needs doing.
And if those things don't work, I find the tools and practices Jeannine and Billie have given us here work very well too.
Also, practice. Chris Botti was asked something around how he got to be where he is and he said, "Three things: practice, practice, practice." The doing of a thing, even and especially when we don't know how to do it, is part of the journey.
Also, I read a lot, I read and reread and reread essays and books that do what I want to be able to do as a writer. And I break them down and figure out what they did, where and how. I have copied entire essays (Joan Didion did this with Hemmingway when she was young) to feel and hear the rhythm and cadence and language in my bones.
I hope some or any of this is helpful. It was beautiful for me to write this all out and think about it, so thank you thank you for asking. I may even write an entire post on this, because it feels very juicy for me!
I wrote this without reading the comments first, because I wanted to give my own experience without being influenced by what Jeannine or others might have to say.
So now, I'm going to read and see what else comes up for me!
Thank you so much! I have trouble keeping uo with comments with my 200 some subscribers, so I can only imagine that it's pretty impossible to follow this many comments coming at you. I meant to ask Jeannine how she did it when I met her last week :)
I just started creative writing 1.5 years ago after overcoming 30 years of “not creative” baggage. I really do relate to that euphoric/inspired first round. I think part of the challenge is because I'm new I still don't really have any sense of what works or what a piece needs,though as you say, I think a lot of that comes in the doing. I read voraciously, but I don't think I've ever really done close reading or read with an eye to what is working or not,so I'll have to experiment with that. And I do know what you mean about being away from the page when you get that clarity. Most of my best writing insights come while walking the dog.
Oh there's so much of that out there - the "not creative baggage". I'm so so so happy for you you are writing creatively now! Be patient and kind with yourself and celebrate this part of you awakening.
A LOT comes in the doing. The practice is huge. And the reading and paying close attention is huge. That will make such a big difference. It did for me. And I firmly believe in lots of walking away and letting it sit. Even for just 10 minutes.
I know you addressed this to Jocelyn and I hope she answers it. I have to say that editing for grammar is copyediting (an important final step) but revising is something else altogether--revising is where writing happens, it is where the clay finds its shape. I want to hear what Jocelyn says--but for me and for most working writers, revision is actually writing, where as the "bursts" you describe, those are for making the clay that will later be shaped, for we cannot shape until there is clay.
In my comment about George Saunders I think I am really describing editing , not revision then. But it is still about being loose and playful, perhaps blurring your eyes a bit to see what is possible as you revise. But understand the now, what. Jeanine asked me lots of questions about a snippet which opened possibilities for deepening and discovering what I was writing around or toward and this was very very helpful.
I think you are describing both--and I know George Saunders essay on What Writers Really Do When They Write nearly by heart and follow him religiously, and I know that what you are describing is, for him, absolutely part of line-level revision, which can help us actually get to the *heart* of the story, too. It's not just moving something here, taking something out there. It's about meaning, because meaning can live in granular details. There is ALSo the part where we just kind of wrestle the whole thing apart, like really really throw it all up into the air and catch what we can on the way down, push it and pull it and remove gigantic swaths of it. That's big revision. But the other kind that you described, if done with the intention George Saunders brings to it, and that I also practice, can be revision. We did that with Jocelyn's piece and, though it was subtle, it did sharpen the meaning. We call that an editorial process I guess because it's the jargon of the industry, but granular work toward refining meaning does enter the territory of revision. You know what I mean? Oh, yes, you do. I already know!
Yes! This is so it. When I'm working with a piece it's just like that. Wrangling larger pieces, moving things around - oh how I move things around to see how the feel and taste and sound and flow; working one line over and over and sometimes finally tossing it out or figuring it out. And then, digging and digging to get to what I'm really wanting to say - not what I'm _trying_ to say, but what wants to be said. It's such a beautiful, wrought process.
Yes!! I find it so interesting that when we actually begin to break it down and explain processes we are often describing the same thing but with different labels already assigned in our own heads. This is what makes conversations like this so valuable. Arriving at an understanding of a shared language to describe the ineffable experiences we are sharing is such a big part of building this community. I appreciate your yes/ and approach to that so so much.
I was just sitting here thinking, my god this community is just astounding. It's -- it's really something. These conversations go so far beyond ANYTHING we did in my MFA. It's so much bigger than MFA because when we approach the writing process this way, it's about us, and our artistic and human development. Which is why George Saunders's name keeps popping up. He really does operate that way, and believe it. I am so happy to see this quality of conversation on the craft happening again and again here at WITD and growing more and more robust, and deeper, too, and it's thrilling. Just imagine what is going to happen as we continue. I am in awe.
This makes me feel sooooo good, first of all because I have that thing where I feel like I'm missing big pieces because I don't know the lingo of writing (interiority? exteriority?) I only took a couple of creative writing classes, I do not have an MFA, even though I applied, the once-husband and I did not get into the same school for graduate programs and then, well, Costa Rica. ;)
And second of all and even more importantly, is what you said about the quality of conversation around craft and its honest and vulnerable compassion and dedication of the readers and writers here to be of service to each other.
I remember sitting in those workshops at UCLA and just waiting to be torn apart by someone - not everyone, but there was always that one person. Just a terrible way to become a better writer, for me at least.
Indeed- I often felt in my MFA there were terms I should know, even when a prof was just describing their own process. I was so darn lucky to attend a workshop and lunch(!) with George Saunders and his great advice was “ you are here to find your own way of doing things, so you may take 5% of what I offer and 10% of someone else’s description of their practices to adopt as your own.” And he is just the kindest man, darn him! 😂 But here you have created a space to actually DO that together, supported, not alone in our writing silos- this is so damn rich. And feels so much more generative, sustainable, and kind.
Thanks Jeannine. I have a sense that this is a really important next step in my writing, but I feel like I'm still at the “ok, but how” stage. Which is to say, if some people in this series are willing to share the progression from first draftto final, that would be immensely helpful. Like I don't reallyhave any strategies for making something more itself. 99.9% of my writing experience has been academic and/or scientific which feels like editing is mostly for clarity not like helping a creation become a thriving organism of its own.
Amy, I think I'm going to write this for us! And I think because so much of your writing is academic/scientific, it might be hard to get out of your head/logic brain to "help your creation become a thriving organism of its own." I think there are lots of ways to move yourself into that space and I also understand really needing to have the steps to do a thing. So I think I'm going to try and do that and maybe also Jeannine will hold an intensive. ;)
Both would be wonderful. I have always operated in very head and logic based realms, but I think a lot of the barrier is almost more practical, like I mentioned in the comment before, not really understanding that X change produces y effect, so seeing the process would be really clarifying.
If you already can create clarity from your other writing then you already know revision is about taking stuff out almost often than putting stuff in. George Saunders describes his process as a playful extraction of words in each phrase just to see what happens to the shape and meaning. He describes this as simply using your taste- see what appeals to you in a playful way rather then judging way while giving yourself all the benefit of the doubt like you would a dear friend.
Right, right, right. I hope people chime in. I sometimes taught revision intensives in the live, synchronous WITD workshops. It's a learned skill for sure, to make clay then shape it, and as you correctly intuit, it's entirely different than editing in the academic sense.
Chiming in: I like the clay metaphor, because clay is so malleable. With revision, we can add onto, we can cut away, we can move the parts around. Sometimes we lop off big chunks, and sometimes we are shaving with a thin blade. It's all about seeing what the piece is really about, making it more and more clear. Sometimes that comes through standing back and looking at it in a big picture way, and sometimes it comes through narrowing in. Sometimes changing a verb shifts a whole piece for me. I tend to go out and in and out again.
Jocelyn! Jeannine! I’m astonished by how quickly you pulled this together!!
This piece is glorious. And it has staying power. I’ve been thinking of it since I read it last week. (I was too sick to comment then, but happily I’ve recovered enough to comment now.)
My favourite sentence and image is this: “First, we lined up our shoulder blades and spines, and then our hips, and finally our feet, so that the bones in my 10-year-old-body met the bones in her 70-year-old-body in all the same places.” In. all. the. same. places. Just, wow.
I absolutely love your grandmother’s voice with the, “Come on in, Babydoll. Let’s get back to back.” I feel a loving easygoingness and affection in her words. What a presence.
Everything about the sex scene is chef’s kiss. How efficiently you describe the transaction and the tension/distance between you with “him needing reassurance, release, me needing to please”, and the whole notion of sexual currency. I keep thinking of “the small fire burning your skin” - that carpet burn detail is so precise. I also really love reading your thoughts. It’s interior, but it shows us how disconnected and disassociated you are. “My voice making encouraging sounds” - just the remove of this observation! Then there’s the foreshadowing of feeling something but not enough.
And the food! I really, really loved the food! The cracked crab with melted butter and good Chardonnay. And later, “there was no cracked crab, but ahi pulled out of the ocean” - what a brilliant way to show the passage of time, geography and culture! You’ve inspired me to remember to bring food into my writing.
I admire how the bed serves as the container for the story, and an earned metaphor for how you handled your relationship. “I didn’t set out to betray my mother’s request by giving the bed away.” Just like you didn’t set out to betray your marriage vows. Spectacular. Then the last sentence, and how it it ties back to the intro, is so satisfying.
And the title! I love the title. I’m curious how it came about. Was this always your title, or did Jeannine suggest it? It feels very Jeannine :) It’s delicious because “The Game Was To Guess the Words” is a line from the piece, but it doubles as another earned metaphor for you gradually letting yourself hear, and understand, the lyrics of the song of your life.
Thank you both for sharing the process of how this came together. Just a beautiful read all around.
This is such a beautiful reflection, Monika, on Jocelyn's gorgeous, affecting essay (which I love and which, as you know, inspired this whole new endeavor with its brilliance). The title was a suggestion of mine, I asked Jocelyn's permission to send some ideas, and this is the one we both liked best. I am getting more and more and more keen on the importance of titles.
I thought you might have suggested the title. I love it.
Thank you--I do too!
Close reading is a new practice for me, so it was hard to read this gorgeous piece by Jocelyn and not be taken in by the words and story alone. The mahogany bed felt like a physical anchor that kept you grounded generationally and was the thread of love woven through. When you let go of the bed I felt relief, that you freed yourself from the constraints yet not the love that is the true grounding. I can imagine the editorial process was vulnerable and how blessed with such a loving teacher. Thank you for sharing your story and an example of great writing.
Thank you, Paulette, I so appreciate your lovely words. I love how you notice it's a thread of love and I love this, "When you let go of the bed I felt relief," that's incredible, because that's the feeling, subconsciously, I wanted to convey. Thank you for your reading and sharing of how it was for you! xo
Jocelyn, it’s brought to mind an armoire of my Grandmother’s that I’ve moved across states a few times. And the emotions are triggered around keeping it or letting it go. I’m going to reread your piece and see if it brings me clarity.
Oh my. I can feel that it's a heavy piece, literally and metaphorically for you. I would love to know if you get any clarity around whether to keep it or let it go. Big love to you. ❤️
Jocelyn!!!! This was absolutely gorgeous.
Thank you Holly! I'm so glad you liked it!
Looooooved this amazing essay🛏️
Thank you!! ❤️ OMG the bed emoji. ;)
Thank you for this beautiful piece of writing, Jocelyn. Reading it amongst the chaos of the end of a long weekend, my kids in various states of disarray, the house being put back together, was a perfect pause ❤️❤️❤️❤️
oh wow. I love seeing you in the beautiful chaos of family and life, taking a moment to be with this piece. Thank you thank you! ❤️
Thank you, again. ❤️
Jocelyn! This piece is absolutely stunning! I think I will carry the images from it in my mind for a while. I could relate to much of it myself. I am still trying to find words to tell you how much I loved reading this beautiful story of love, loss, change, the things we carry with us, the things we leave behind, and the obligations that people put on us that we think are our responsibility to take care of even in places designed for rest and renewal. Thank you for sharing this piece with us.
Also, I was fascinated to read about the way the story developed, how it came to pass, and how you overcame the feelings being uncomfortable with being able to tell the story. Of course learning about how the editing process felt for you was also fascinating.
Jeannine, thank you for your generosity in to share the writing of others in your Lit Salon. It truly is a gift to read the work of others and to learn how you masterfully help to shape the work of writers.
Oh Sally, this is just so beautiful. "I think I will carry the images from it in my mind for a while." mmmm. that just really got me.
this: "the things we carry with us, the things we leave behind, and the obligations that people put on us that we think are our responsibility to take care of even in places designed for rest and renewal." yes yes yes
"Also, I was fascinated to read about the way the story developed, how it came to pass, and how you overcame the feelings being uncomfortable with being able to tell the story. Of course learning about how the editing process felt for you was also fascinating." I'm so happy this was helpful for you. It was fun and illuminating to think about it for myself and then to get it down in words for others. xo
Jocelyn, honestly, those images! They were so powerful. I would love to be able to leave such images in the minds of my readers. I think doing so takes being so vulnerable and honest and it takes not being afraid to share on the page in black and white print what actually happened and how we felt about what happened. It takes not being afraid of what others will think about us if we share those parts of ourselves on the page. Bravo to you for being able to do that.
Sally, this is just so lovely. Thank you for such kind words about my writing. It really means the world to me. I could not have written this a year ago, or maybe even a few months ago. I didn't know how to get to the specific details, and Jeannine is just such a beautiful teacher of that. And then this community, you included, are so supportive and loving and vulnerable yourselves, that I felt comfortable enough to share it here. xoxxo
I love hearing how a great teacher made all the difference.
I love hearing that too, because great teachers made ALL the difference for me--they really saved me. If I can ever be a great teacher for anyone, at any stage of life, I am paying it back and paying it forward. What could be better?!
No ifs about it, Jeannine. ❤️
What a gorgeous response for Jocelyn, Sally—and I am grateful, too.
Thank you.
❤️
There is so much to love and appreciate here!! All I can say is that I want to read the novel/ memoir! I wanted to know more, and spend more time with you Jocelyn and this story. And what a perfect ending!
Also, a moment to acknowledge Jeannine and this incredibly generous project. I feel so much richer for having read this. Thank you to you both!! Just stunning.
ohmygosh you just said the words! "There is so much to love and appreciate here!! All I can say is that I want to read the novel/ memoir!" eeeeeeeee! I've been wanting to write a memior/collection of essays for nearly as long as I can remember, probably since discovering Joan Didion in my first semester of college. So thank you thank you for this!!!! xoxoxo
I knew it!! I sensed it Jocelyn! Now of course you MUST write it!! :)) ❤️
Wheeee. Thank you so much for the encouragement!! It means so so much to me. ❤️
Thank you, friend. It's been lovely to witness all this today. Heart is full.
This is so incredibly beautiful. You know those meditations where you are a leaf floating along the river or a boat or whatever form the facilitator puts you in? This felt like moving through a huge timeline of life, floating on the boat that is that 4 post bed, drifting from time to time over to the edge for a glimpse of memory that was in HD rather than old timey home video. Vibrant, real, resonant. I also loved picking out the exercises that this emerged from.
And then the reflection on the editorial process allowed me to process some thoughts I had about the word 'revision.' Maybe this is a deeper conversation or post for another place, but it got me to thinking about revising as a process of distilling and expanding upon the heart or multiple hearts (like an octopus) of a piece, getting intimate with the essence of the story and playing with different ways of putting words to an experience until a comfy fit is found. I'm suddenly finding myself looking at 'revision' and 'editing' so differently. Both of which I have long associated with perfectionism and grammar, the confines of 'acceptable' writing. I think my unlearning here is that the perfectionism gets in the way of my process way too early on, and that I can trust myself to attend to the grammar at the end of the process.
Ohmygosh I wrote a whole long reply to this and now it's gone. Sigh. Thank you for that gorgeous analogy, Cassidy! And I love that this whole thread has shifted your lens on editing and revisions and has brought back permission to play and as you beautifully said, get intimate with the essence. Oh how I love that!
I think your other reply is still here- it's just a weird substack glitch that happens to me too, I press post and then my comment disappears until I refresh! Getting intimate with essence might just be it's whole own exploratory piece I'll work on!
oh hahah. Well, now you've got two versions lol. Thanks for the refresh tip! I love getting intimate with essence as an exploratory piece! xo
ooooohhh this is so lovely and beautiful, I love your realization and new lens on revising and editing. So much yes to play and getting intimate with the essence!
and thank you for that gorgeous analogy. The bed floating us through time. Thank you thank you!
Hopefully this is the lost, now unlost comment :)
Emily Levin
33 mins ago
Liked by Jeannine Ouellette
If you already can create clarity from your other writing then you already know revision is about taking stuff out almost often than putting stuff in. George Saunders describes his process as a playful extraction of words in each phrase just to see what happens to the shape and meaning. He describes this as simply using your taste- see what appeals to you in a playful way rather then judging way while giving yourself all the benefit of the doubt like you would a dear friend.
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Emily Levin
7 mins ago
Liked by Jeannine Ouellette
In my comment about George Saunders I think I am really describing editing , not revision then. But it is still about being loose and playful, perhaps blurring your eyes a bit to see what is possible as you revise. But understand the now, what. Jeanine asked me lots of questions about a snippet which opened possibilities for deepening and discovering what I was writing around or toward and this was very very helpful.
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Jeannine Ouellette
2 mins ago
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I think you are describing both--and I know George Saunders essay on What Writers Really Do When They Write nearly by heart and follow him religiously, and I know that what you are describing is, for him, absolutely part of line-level revision, which can help us actually get to the *heart* of the story, too. It's not just moving something here, taking something out there. It's about meaning, because meaning can live in granular details. There is ALSo the part where we just kind of wrestle the whole thing apart, like really really throw it all up into the air and catch what we can on the way down, push it and pull it and remove gigantic swaths of it. That's big revision. But the other kind that you described, if done with the intention George Saunders brings to it, and that I also practice, can be revision. We did that with Jocelyn's piece and, though it was subtle, it did sharpen the meaning. We call that an editorial process I guess because it's the jargon of the industry, but granular work toward refining meaning does enter the territory of revision. You know what I mean? Oh, yes, you do. I already know!
Cassidy, yes -- yes to this (all of it), and re revision, all the yesses, but I also want to say that it's not at all about the grammar. I am going to copy a thing I just wrote in response to Emily! We need to have an intensive on revision, I think.
Yes!
Totally! My takeaway is that grammar is what my socialization and education told me it's about, and that's not it at all!
That's right. I mean, grammar can be really beautiful because it can be used to amplify meaning. Or create rhythm and beauty in the sound of the language (which also creates meaning, indirectly). That's the point of grammar. Not rules. Beauty.
What a wild revelation! My inner child is simultaneously rejoicing and grieving. I wonder if my younger creative self would have been capable of receiving that wisdom in the way that I am now. Either way, I'm very grateful to have found your teaching now.
I'm so glad you are here, too! xoxo
Jocelyn, your essay is so very engaging! The flow, the transition of time is approachable and comfortable. I especially like how you went from one year, two, five then eight. Using the bed throughout was also very effective. I wonder what the bed would say about its own life if it could talk. What was it witness to throughout its long life?
You convey a wide range of emotion through your choice of language - using concrete, specific details - knowing what to say, and knowing what’s best left unsaid. I aspire to be this type of writer. And as I continue to work with Jeannie’s lessons, it will come in time.
I experienced several versions of you in
this piece. The young girl you, tender and playful, in bed with her grandmother and bestie; the young adult you, detached from herself-both in spirit and body-on the floor in the oh so relatable and vulnerable sex scene; the experienced, mature world-traveler you, no longer content to live “a storybook life”, no longer willing to betray herself-as you admit you don’t want to be married. And this line “And the messages sent so long ago from my grandmother's heart, from my friend's fingertips, would finally be freed from the confines of wood and sadness and history”…just WOW! Beautiful way to bring us back to the start!
Thank you for sharing your process in writing this piece - how it started, how you let the line from the poem Making a Fist ‘pull you and pour through you’, how it grew organically from the first two paragraphs. I admire how you sat with it, didn’t give up, questioned your heart and allowed yourself to hear and feel your hearts response. Beautiful! Your essay and process has inspired me to listen more carefully to my own silent whispers, to not throw in the towel when the writing gets uncomfortable. Your essay underscores how the efficient use of the correct words makes a heartfelt impact.
Jeannie, thank you so very much for this new version of Lit Salon! It’s helpful to be a fly on the wall to a fellow writer’s process and see how a story is born! I can’t say enough about your generosity, how you continue to expand your offerings on Substack, all with the desire help your subscribers be the best version of their writing selves. So looking forward to your 6/27 Zoom class followed by your six week series and then summer camp next year!!
thank you Lisa! this" I especially like how you went from one year, two, five then eight." i'm so glad you liked that. I wondered if it worked the way I wanted it to. And yes! i would love to know what that bed has to say. Who is it with now? where is it?
And just wow. "I aspire to be this type of writer." I just, that's just. wow. such a huge huge compliment.
Thank you for this "And the messages sent so long ago from my grandmother's heart, from my friend's fingertips, would finally be freed from the confines of wood and sadness and history”…just WOW! Beautiful way to bring us back to the start!" it's one of the lines I worked a lot on, getting the timing and lyricism of it right but also saying what wanted to be said.
And this: "Your essay and process has inspired me to listen more carefully to my own silent whispers, to not throw in the towel when the writing gets uncomfortable." Yes yes yes! that makes me so happy!
You are so very very welcome for all of it. Thank you for reading and sharing what happened for you along the way. It means so much to me.
So much gratitude to Jeannine. And yay! we'll be in the 6/27 class together and the camp next year!
Double yay to see your face amongst the Zoomie’s on 6/27!
Double yay! ❤️❤️❤️
Well this is just a beautiful response, Lisa. And I am glad you can write with us on 6/27, yay! I don't have the whole roster in my head yet, so every time I hear someone is coming I'm happily surprised anew, like groundhog's day, ha. And as for the 6-session course -- I am so looking forward to that, as well. Though it won't, we think, be 6 weeks ... stay tuned for the details! Billie and I are meeting at the end of May to finalize the architecture of that experience so that it can be truly rich, alive, and sustainable. I have a pretty good sense of it, having taught WITD synchronous since 2020, but this is a really great moment to re-imagine, and in a way that is specific to our community here. Again, I am so excited. And as for Camp, just !!!!!!!
OMG there's another 6 session course coming? I cannot wait!
I am such a happy fly! I love this, Lisa!
Jocelyn, I was so happy to see your name under the first WITD LIT SALON essay this morning!!! I have an image of you sitting on your bed, not with a computer, paper or pen, but with a giant bowl of words, handcrafted from hard clay. You dump them onto a cookie sheet, and painstakingly shift the words around, as if puzzle pieces that are meant to fit just right, and never forced. Your oven has transformed into a giant kiln, ready to fire your essay, making it solid and sturdy. This is how stories live, long after we are gone. You are forged in the fire, forever a beacon of authenticity and truth. Although our corporeal vessels will eventually be reunited with the earth, our words are everlasting.
Oh my Goodness, can you see into my soul? I often see the words and sentences like tiles, like
puzzle pieces or Rummikub tiles - do you know that game? I was always the best in my family at it - I could hold the patterns I wanted to create in my head. And I did use to sit in that very bed and make jewelry out of my grandmother's old pieces that she'd give me. And I often used a tray to do it, so the beads didn't spill everywhere. HOW DID YOU KNOW? 😉
Regardless of your accuracy in seeing into my head, your description is just gorgeous. " a giant bowl of words, handcrafted from hard clay." I mean, just wow.
And this, "You are forged in the fire, forever a beacon of authenticity and truth." jeez, woman, that's just some beauty right there.
It was my pleasure to read your beautifully authentic writing. Honestly, I don’t think I’ve ever made a comment like this one; imagining what someone else is doing as they write. That’s what popped into my head so I just wrote it down, thinking it was a metaphor. I consider myself an empath; I can feel other people’s emotions if I’m in the same room with them. Psychic, I wish! I’m just happy that you feel my words are the compliment they were intended to be. 🥰🥰
Ooooh that makes it even more magical! I'm so glad you wrote it down and shared it with me. Another way of being seen and seeing. ;) I'm an empath too, I feel the humans and the other animals, even bugs and reptiles. I did feel your words, thank you so much!❤️
What a beautiful reflection you've given to Jocelyn, Amy. A gift. ❤️
Thank you Jeannine 🙏🥰
Oh my this is just stunning. Thank you so much for sharing this essay. I remember reading the original snippet in week 5 and being swept away by its tenderness. I'm so glad you expanded on it, what a beautiful job you have done. So inspiring!
So many images that struck a chord deep within but most of all this sentence: "thinking about wanting to be where I was, but not knowing how." Just wow.
Thank you!
I just reread this and was so moved my your words: " I remember reading the original snippet in week 5 and being swept away by its tenderness" thank you thank you.
Thank you for sharing your heart with us ❤️
Thank you, Flavia. I love hearing that you read the original snippet and that you liked what I did with it! And thank you for pointing this out: "So many images that struck a chord deep within but most of all this sentence: "thinking about wanting to be where I was, but not knowing how." I wasn't sure if that would convey what I wanted, but apparently, yes! It did!
This process is so beautiful, to hear what resonated and worked and gave chills and how and why it did all of that is just such a gift.
Yes yes!!
I was blown away by that sentence, too, Flavia. It's a stunner, in its plain, clear, quiet voice. It took my breath away.
This is really beautifully done, Jocelyn.
So much of this brought me back to that feeling of being young, in bed, grandma, Amber, once-husband.
The bed as the object used as she moves through her emotional life.
And THIS line
I could see her feet, swollen and ugly, covered with purple and blue veins. But in bed, where only the feel of them existed, my grandmother’s feet felt like home.
So much to say.
Keeping promises, staying longer than she wants to. Uncertain of what “wanting” is.
I loved it. Beautifully shared.
I love that it brought you back to being young, Jeneane. That's so powerful and special - and that's what the early comments said and what moved me to keep writing on it. Those memories from my childhood of feeling safe and loved, because the majority of my childhood memories are of the opposite.
and yes! the bed as object. I didn't know that was what was going to happen, but I loved it, once it started!
Oh yes, the uncertainty of what "wanting" is - THAT is a gorgeous way to put that.
I would love for you to share more of what resonated, what you saw or felt or what worked, what else can you pull out? I'd love to hear it!
xox
I used to draw pictures on backs with my sister. It’s such a close and intimate part of childhood for those of us who shared a bed. We had a canopy, amongst so much external domestic violence, my sisters and my bed sharing felt safe. Your piece, brought that back front and center.
The thread and theme of choice and choosing seemed ever present.
She shared a bed with grandma. ( it’s what she did-want or not), she brought the bed into her married life, (did she want to?) and later mom put upon her a promise (about the bed). She had sex with a man who wanted and needed, but did our narrator answer the want out of duty? I think the message is she was asked and was wanted but that’s not the same as her wanting.
Later she chooses to let go of the bed. She begins to shift into her own autonomy. Her choices become clearer and her wants start to emerge.
She is asked finally at the end of what she wants and she has the courage to say what she doesn’t want.
It’s what came through for me, but I could also be totally wrong. As a therapist and an advocate for women - I saw a thread of differentiation. How as she developed she became more and more certain around her own empowerment.
It was truly such a beautiful way to move through time. My own writing struggles around time crunching. I have difficulty with how to say it and skip through time. Your grounding your reader with the bed was incredibly helpful as a way to move and then finally showing us that letting go of the bed also allowed her to let go of other things /relationships that aren’t serving her any longer.
Thank you for being willing to share and teach us through your processes. 🙏🏼
It _is_ such a close and intimate part of childhood. I hadn't thought of it in _years_ until this exercise. And I'm finding that working with Jeannine and everyone in this beautiful group is helping me remember pleasant and lovely things from my childhood, and I haven't had access to much of my childhood memories for as long as I can remember. Thank you for sharing that about your childhood. 🙏
I'm wondering if you wanted the essay to answer these questions better: "she shared a bed with grandma. ( it’s what she did-want or not, she brought the bed into her married life, (did she want to?)" I'm curious if there could have been more detail here or if you were lost or wanting more here. ❤️
This: "The thread and theme of choice and choosing seemed ever present." It is, isn't it. I didn't intend it that way, but it came through.
This too: " think the message is she was asked, and wanted but that’s not the same as wanting." yes, exactly.
"Later she chooses to let go of the bed. She begins to shift into her own autonomy. Her choices become clearer and her wants start to emerge." YES!
Thank you for the lovely compliment on moving through time. I said this somewhere else on this thread, but ever since reading "Wild" I've been wanting to understand how she included so much of her life by using the thread of the trail as her anchor. I wasn't trying to experiment with that here, it's just what happened. Like after years of reading and re-reading memoirs and "Wild" specifically - I've picked that book apart, I absorbed something subconsciously.
You are so welcome and I am so happy and honored to share the work and the process! Ask any more questions you have. xoxoxo
Such a beautiful response.
I didn’t have questions, I was more breaking down the parts and looking through the thread to share with you what I saw. All the questions were answered by the end of your essay… she made choices toward her own autonomy. 💕
I love how much support you are receiving. How you anchored your story much like Wild. Bravo
I’m so inspired!
ooooh that is just the best thing I could hear. I'm so happy you're inspired. And i love this, "looking through the thread to share what I saw" so yummy. Thank you thank you.
The bed as the object -- it's so powerful. Makes me want to do some object exercises again soon. xo
ooh ooh ooh! Yes, please!
Wow. This, all of it, so gorgeous. And that last line…
Thank you! And that last line...I have to give credit where it's due, that last line was inspired and requested by Jeannine - fabulous, gentle, insightful, magical, editor that she is. I questioned whether to end it on the line of my response, and left it that way when I submitted. She offered that one more "beautiful" line that summed up my experience in the now could really work. She also left it all up to me, whether I wanted to change any single thing or not. I wasn't sure, but I tried several new lines on at the end and finally settled on the one you see now. I think it just takes the essay one step deeper and I am so grateful for Jeannine's guidance!
Thank you for being such a thoughtful writer, sitting with suggestions for as long as you needed in order to feel your way through them toward your own destination. That’s really what the editorial process is about, and why it can matter so much in our growth as writers. It’s too bad there are fewer and fewer opportunities for writers to experience editorial processes, besides hiring editors. There’s something a little bit different about an editor who already chose your work—who already said yes, and then working with you to see it again. It’s a little bit different than hiring someone. And I say that as someone people hire, so I am not saying hired editors are a bad thing! It’s the only access a lot of writers have to editors. It’s just different.
You made it easy to do that. And yes, I love the nuanced difference between an editor who has chosen the work and one who is editing from the outside. I think there are benefits to both, in this case, it was the beautiful in that it was us working together to create something from both of us--on my part the writing, on your part the shepherding of the writing into this new, beautiful space you're creating to hold the writing of others, and on both our parts the finished thing, which is so much bigger than any of the parts.
And I'm using the phrase "as long as you needed" pretty loosely, considering how fast we queued this up! You took as long as you needed within the time available, and that's a really good metaphor for all of our creative processes. If we lived by it consistently, oh, the things we could do.
That whole addage of not letting perfect get in the way of good.
Jocelyn, what you've done here makes me think of ice skating, which, when done well, looks easy--but even the simplest things are really hard to do. And it's really easy to fall on your face! I found myself nodding as I've read through the other comments: yes, yes, yes, I agree! And I'll add this: I really admire all that you don't say in this piece. I admire the restraint. There is a clear string running through all the parts, but you don't draw our attention to it. You let us feel it more than see it, until you pull it tight at the end. It really happened for me here: "It was as we left that house that I finally left the four-poster bed, glaze cracked from age and storage and heat and moisture, pruny, like skin submerged too long under water." Without that sentence, the declaration of wanting to leave the marriage might not have worked for me; I might have been surprised by it. But that bed feels like both a thing that's held you and you've outgrown (as the very next sentence that follows tells us) and, in some sense, the bed is also you. It's easy to see how you, too, might be cracked and pruny and too long submerged. I really appreciate how all that you didn't say gives us space to make those connections, but at the same time, the ending lets us know that the sense we've been making is the one you intended. It was just the right amount of telling for me.
Rita thank you so so much for sharing! And for the kind words. It was absolutely a piece about only telling the exact parts that needed telling - and the bed was such a wonderful guardrail for that. I am going to play around with this more (and it sounds like maybe Jeannine is going to give us some object prompts - i hope!) because it did really help me see, after I'd put all the pieces in, how much was left out, but how rich the soil was in such a limited amount of words.
And thank you so much for pointing this out: " It really happened for me here: "It was as we left that house that I finally left the four-poster bed, glaze cracked from age and storage and heat and moisture, pruny, like skin submerged too long under water." Without that sentence, the declaration of wanting to leave the marriage might not have worked for me; I might have been surprised by it. But that bed feels like both a thing that's held you and you've outgrown (as the very next sentence that follows tells us) and, in some sense, the bed is also you. It's easy to see how you, too, might be cracked and pruny and too long submerged." so much yes. the bed is totally also me, pruny, held under water too long, unable to breath, outgrown, all those things. I'm so glad that wasn't too subtle as to be totally lost, but also glad it wasn't too obvious. that line made it in in a much later revision before I submitted it and it felt very important, but I'm not even sure I knew why at the time. Having other writers and readers tell me what they heard, saw, felt, understood about this piece is so valuable - and delightful!
Thank you thank you. ❤️🙏
Oh my gosh I wish I had mentioned the restraint in my opening note about this piece--I am going to go back and add that immediately!!!!! GAH it was one of the things I felt and loved instantly in this work. Be right back hahaha gotta go edit the post ....
I think you did, didn't you? Maybe constraint? What I love is that I did not even know that was a thing in writing until a few weeks ago when you gave us a prompt for it!
I have said a lot about "constraint" here, but less about "restraint," though I have talked about restraint (which is also related to exteriority, embodiment, and the balance of showing vs telling, as well as the beauty of white space and a craft practice called "playing the rests" which is CENTRAL to flash, and, your piece, given its length, would be technically flash, though the structure is really unique for flash, because you cover so much time, which is hard in flash, and which I did point out in the intro! BOTH constraints (which are tools, and my exercises use them almost all the time) and restraint (which is a craft choice, something we can do on purpose on the page, it's about what we don't say) are central principles in my teaching. I have to keep track of some of this stuff for a future post, and for the shared vocab of the synchronous WITD thing in the fall.
Oh, I should say that the language we choose can also be a kind of constraint AND can show restraint, as your language definitely did. So there's always some fun overlap in these concepts.
I love the way you are giving me permission to go back and change mine after I've published them!
Oh my gosh Rita, I do it ALL THE TIME, I make dozens of small updates to published pieces on Substack, I mean, why not, it's my newsletter. This allows me the permission to publish as quickly and frequently as I do without being in a constant state of paralysis and agony over not getting it exactly how I want it. I consider these pieces evergreen, we push them in the Curriculum Index, so if there's a typo or, in this case, a more substantial thing I want to add or rearrange, I do it immediately. I already made the edit on this piece based on your comment, because I can't believe I forgot to mention the restraint! Something, by the way, you are also incredible with in your work, so I am not at all surprised that you saw it! If this WITD space is going to continue growing as the incredible literary salon that it clearly already is, these are the kinds of conversations that make it so. And they're SO MUCH MORE VALUABLE than sitting around "critiquing" people's work--gah, I wish we could retire that model already.
We are officially retiring it here on WITD. Done!
And this: "This allows me the permission to publish as quickly and frequently as I do without being in a constant state of paralysis and agony over not getting it exactly how I want it." just so much power here.
Now I am so curious to read more of your work....I actually stopped myself mid sentence and read your piece, "Counting Them All." Just so lovely. I left you a comment too. xoxo
I really needed to see this today, as I'm continuing to tinker with an essay I've been working on for more than two weeks and haven't published anything on my newsletter for even more! And I am SO WITH YOU on critique! That model had so much to do with why I never did an MFA program. I learn so much from focusing on what a writer is doing, on what I can see in it that works, rather than trying to think about what would make it better. I love that the conversations here are all about that.
Ooooh sending you lots of good energy for being with your essay and listening to it and your heart and what needs to be said. xo
So well said, Rita!!
And, good luck with your essay--I love your work. ❤️
And to be transparent, I DO think we find insights into what might make a work better by focusing very intently on what is working and why, but it's a different portal, a more invested one, a more attentive one, a more devoted to the work itself one, with a real allegiance to listening in for what a work might be trying to become, and therefore a much truer one, than by trying to say, "here's what works, here's what doesn't" as if it is ever that simple.
yes! a more attentive one. Because, by being so closely with what DOES work, what doesn't work becomes obvious.
It's a kinder and more nurturing one, too--and therefore more effective, if the whole point is to create good writing. We can't write well if we can't tell the truth, and we can't tell the truth (especially emerging ones!) unless we feel safe.
Jocelyn, I was so moved by this essay. I remember reading about the mahagony bed in the comments that week of the Visceral Self and what you did with it is a wonder. There was so much I related to, most of all that line at the very end, "I don't want to be married anymore," the words I spoke to my husband of 33 years in September 2022. How beautifully you guided us there. What skillful interweaving of your grandmother's bed and then the four-poster bed. Weaving in the sex was beautifully done--realistic, visceral, touching, a complex coupling, where I could feel the emotions of both partners. Thank you for being brave enough to include that. And it's particularly moving to me that you wrote about your grandmother's bed because yesterday I was watching a series of video interviews with my mother in 2021, when she had just received her diagnosis of vascular dementia, and I knew I had a finite amount of time to capture her memories. And she remembered her childhood bed, a headboard with a rabbit painted onto it. "You know," she said. "I wish I had that bed now. It was my childhood bed." I think, too, of my girlhood bedroom, not the bed so much as this marvelous wallpaper, pink roses and green vines on some of the walls, and green and white striped wallpaper on the other walls. Somehow, it worked. A secret garden to fall asleep in each night, my sister's bed next to mine. Well done, Jocelyn, and I look forward to reading more of your writing, here and on your Substack.
Amy, thank you for sharing so much of yourself in this comment. I love hearing about the parallels in our lives. Wow, 33 years. My first husband and I were married for 14, but we'd been best friends since we were 12, so all told 26 years together. Even if it's what you want, what you need, for me, it was painful and difficult to figure out how to be a separate person. And thank you for your read on the sex scene. I appreciate your insight. It was so challenging to write and to keep in there, for so many reasons, but I felt it was so important.
I love love love hearing about your mother's bed and I'm so sorry you've had to go through that with her.
That wallpaper in the photo of me and my grandmother was in my room all through my childhood. It was gorgeous and so sophisticated. My mother has always had fabulous taste. I can see your wallpaper and how it worked beautifully. and this, "a secret garden to fall asleep in each night, my sister's bed next to mine." I think you have the start of something there if you feel like following it. I for one, want to know more about the girl (s) in this room. big love to you!
Oh my gosh this, this conversation, is the reason for it all--and this comment, ""a secret garden to fall asleep in each night, my sister's bed next to mine." I think you have the start of something there if you feel like following it. I for one, want to know more about the girl (s) in this room" is everything that is good and holy about real writing workshops, like we are building here.
yes yes yes!! this IS the reason for it all, isn't it? The sharing and the unveiling of ourselves to ourselves and then sharing that with others who support and love us on this journey. THAT is such sweetness and visceral living. ❤️
This whole experience today, reading responses, hearing from stalwart editor and brave writer, conjuring personal ghosts and memories- is so moving. Like there’s a shift in our story we are making here together. Just wow.
Yes! I think there IS a shift in the story we are making here together and I love that you pointed this out, but of course you would see it Emily, that is one of your gifts. xoxox
💜🧜♀️
What an attentive and generous close read, Amy. We are all so lucky to have you here.
I love how the mahogany bed ties this long thread of time together and the image of you lying back to back and the question at the end. Jocelyn, do you have a lot of experience with editing and revising? I tend to have one burst of inspiration and get swept up in it, but I feel like I don't know how and because of that don't really enjoy/value the editing process beyond like grammar fixes.
Hi Amy, I'm trying to make sure I see every comment and this one got lost in the thread there for a day, but I'm here and I love your question, I think it's such an important one for us writers. First, thank you for the kind words, I love hearing what stood out for you.
As for editing: "do you have a lot of experience with editing and revising?" I'm not sure if I have a lot, but I'll tell you what I do have. ;) I started freelancing in my early 20s right out of college. I did a couple of newspaper articles and then I had the great luck to get hired by a business journal to write pieces for them once or twice a month. These were long, in depth pieces for a very expensive niche publication and I had a great editor there - my first real experience building a relationship with an editor. She gave me honest and clear feedback and was generous and kind. She helped me see how my writing could be stronger and better for her particular purposes, which I gave me an incredible foundation for understanding my audience and for learning to crafting a voice to fit that particular publication or client or audience.
I have also been writing articles and blog posts for my own clients for four years now, and though they are not editing for me, their feedback is similar to editing. With them, I have to be the sole editor and I've gotten used to many revisions.
With my own essays, I still find it challenging to edit without a deadline, which is why I decided to publish weekly and I stick with that. And since I've worked in print, I think it's ingrained in me that it better be as good as I can get it upon publication -- though I love Jeannine's philosophy of giving ourselves permission to edit here on Substack anytime after publication.
But here's the thing I think is sticky about editing, though it's also where the juiciness is:
Editing and revising our own work is uncomfortable.
Writing it out the first time can often be euphoric, or revelatory, or full of release and if we're in that flow state, it comes easily and effortlessly. Even if we're working at it, getting that first draft down is relatively easy compared to reading it again, because in reading it again, we are faced with ourselves and our pain or loss or grief or joy or surprise or whatever. It is a very vulnerable and delicate place and it is not always easy, sitting with ourselves.
And then we are asked as writers, to not just sit with ourselves in our raw outpouring, we're asked to then do something with that rawness, to carve it and cut pieces away (Jeannine has mentioned that editing can be a painful process, because it is cutting pieces of ourselves up or out). We're asked to add things, to dig freaking deeper.
I think that's the hardest and also the most rewarding part of editing and revising. We have to go deeper with ourselves and it is hard f***ing work. I'm not sure that I find editing/revising/rewriting enjoyable, but I do find it gritty and hard and very very satisfying when I work at one line over and over and over and then, finally, that flow comes again and I get to a deeper place, a more real and honest and embodied (thank you thank you Jeannine) place. THAT is the biggest most beautiful thing and it is a very different experience than that first piece of just writing down the bones (as Natalie Goldberg says).
You didn't ask a question here, but you said, "I feel like I don't know how." I feel you here. I often feel like I don't know how. So, this might or might not work for you, but I do the things that help me stay grounded in my non-writing life: meditation, running, yoga, swimming. I get in my body and out of my head. I ask god/universe/source for help. And then I just sit with the piece and ask it to speak to me. What does it need, what more do I need to say? I read it and cringe and sometimes cry and sometimes laugh and all of this usually that gets me to a point where I know what else needs doing.
And if those things don't work, I find the tools and practices Jeannine and Billie have given us here work very well too.
Also, practice. Chris Botti was asked something around how he got to be where he is and he said, "Three things: practice, practice, practice." The doing of a thing, even and especially when we don't know how to do it, is part of the journey.
Also, I read a lot, I read and reread and reread essays and books that do what I want to be able to do as a writer. And I break them down and figure out what they did, where and how. I have copied entire essays (Joan Didion did this with Hemmingway when she was young) to feel and hear the rhythm and cadence and language in my bones.
I hope some or any of this is helpful. It was beautiful for me to write this all out and think about it, so thank you thank you for asking. I may even write an entire post on this, because it feels very juicy for me!
I wrote this without reading the comments first, because I wanted to give my own experience without being influenced by what Jeannine or others might have to say.
So now, I'm going to read and see what else comes up for me!
xoxoxo
Thank you so much! I have trouble keeping uo with comments with my 200 some subscribers, so I can only imagine that it's pretty impossible to follow this many comments coming at you. I meant to ask Jeannine how she did it when I met her last week :)
I just started creative writing 1.5 years ago after overcoming 30 years of “not creative” baggage. I really do relate to that euphoric/inspired first round. I think part of the challenge is because I'm new I still don't really have any sense of what works or what a piece needs,though as you say, I think a lot of that comes in the doing. I read voraciously, but I don't think I've ever really done close reading or read with an eye to what is working or not,so I'll have to experiment with that. And I do know what you mean about being away from the page when you get that clarity. Most of my best writing insights come while walking the dog.
Oh there's so much of that out there - the "not creative baggage". I'm so so so happy for you you are writing creatively now! Be patient and kind with yourself and celebrate this part of you awakening.
A LOT comes in the doing. The practice is huge. And the reading and paying close attention is huge. That will make such a big difference. It did for me. And I firmly believe in lots of walking away and letting it sit. Even for just 10 minutes.
xoxo
I know you addressed this to Jocelyn and I hope she answers it. I have to say that editing for grammar is copyediting (an important final step) but revising is something else altogether--revising is where writing happens, it is where the clay finds its shape. I want to hear what Jocelyn says--but for me and for most working writers, revision is actually writing, where as the "bursts" you describe, those are for making the clay that will later be shaped, for we cannot shape until there is clay.
yes! this is a beautiful way to describe it, Jeannine!
In my comment about George Saunders I think I am really describing editing , not revision then. But it is still about being loose and playful, perhaps blurring your eyes a bit to see what is possible as you revise. But understand the now, what. Jeanine asked me lots of questions about a snippet which opened possibilities for deepening and discovering what I was writing around or toward and this was very very helpful.
I think you are describing both--and I know George Saunders essay on What Writers Really Do When They Write nearly by heart and follow him religiously, and I know that what you are describing is, for him, absolutely part of line-level revision, which can help us actually get to the *heart* of the story, too. It's not just moving something here, taking something out there. It's about meaning, because meaning can live in granular details. There is ALSo the part where we just kind of wrestle the whole thing apart, like really really throw it all up into the air and catch what we can on the way down, push it and pull it and remove gigantic swaths of it. That's big revision. But the other kind that you described, if done with the intention George Saunders brings to it, and that I also practice, can be revision. We did that with Jocelyn's piece and, though it was subtle, it did sharpen the meaning. We call that an editorial process I guess because it's the jargon of the industry, but granular work toward refining meaning does enter the territory of revision. You know what I mean? Oh, yes, you do. I already know!
Yes! This is so it. When I'm working with a piece it's just like that. Wrangling larger pieces, moving things around - oh how I move things around to see how the feel and taste and sound and flow; working one line over and over and sometimes finally tossing it out or figuring it out. And then, digging and digging to get to what I'm really wanting to say - not what I'm _trying_ to say, but what wants to be said. It's such a beautiful, wrought process.
Yes!! I find it so interesting that when we actually begin to break it down and explain processes we are often describing the same thing but with different labels already assigned in our own heads. This is what makes conversations like this so valuable. Arriving at an understanding of a shared language to describe the ineffable experiences we are sharing is such a big part of building this community. I appreciate your yes/ and approach to that so so much.
I was just sitting here thinking, my god this community is just astounding. It's -- it's really something. These conversations go so far beyond ANYTHING we did in my MFA. It's so much bigger than MFA because when we approach the writing process this way, it's about us, and our artistic and human development. Which is why George Saunders's name keeps popping up. He really does operate that way, and believe it. I am so happy to see this quality of conversation on the craft happening again and again here at WITD and growing more and more robust, and deeper, too, and it's thrilling. Just imagine what is going to happen as we continue. I am in awe.
This makes me feel sooooo good, first of all because I have that thing where I feel like I'm missing big pieces because I don't know the lingo of writing (interiority? exteriority?) I only took a couple of creative writing classes, I do not have an MFA, even though I applied, the once-husband and I did not get into the same school for graduate programs and then, well, Costa Rica. ;)
And second of all and even more importantly, is what you said about the quality of conversation around craft and its honest and vulnerable compassion and dedication of the readers and writers here to be of service to each other.
I remember sitting in those workshops at UCLA and just waiting to be torn apart by someone - not everyone, but there was always that one person. Just a terrible way to become a better writer, for me at least.
Indeed- I often felt in my MFA there were terms I should know, even when a prof was just describing their own process. I was so darn lucky to attend a workshop and lunch(!) with George Saunders and his great advice was “ you are here to find your own way of doing things, so you may take 5% of what I offer and 10% of someone else’s description of their practices to adopt as your own.” And he is just the kindest man, darn him! 😂 But here you have created a space to actually DO that together, supported, not alone in our writing silos- this is so damn rich. And feels so much more generative, sustainable, and kind.
Thanks Jeannine. I have a sense that this is a really important next step in my writing, but I feel like I'm still at the “ok, but how” stage. Which is to say, if some people in this series are willing to share the progression from first draftto final, that would be immensely helpful. Like I don't reallyhave any strategies for making something more itself. 99.9% of my writing experience has been academic and/or scientific which feels like editing is mostly for clarity not like helping a creation become a thriving organism of its own.
Amy, I think I'm going to write this for us! And I think because so much of your writing is academic/scientific, it might be hard to get out of your head/logic brain to "help your creation become a thriving organism of its own." I think there are lots of ways to move yourself into that space and I also understand really needing to have the steps to do a thing. So I think I'm going to try and do that and maybe also Jeannine will hold an intensive. ;)
Both would be wonderful. I have always operated in very head and logic based realms, but I think a lot of the barrier is almost more practical, like I mentioned in the comment before, not really understanding that X change produces y effect, so seeing the process would be really clarifying.
If you already can create clarity from your other writing then you already know revision is about taking stuff out almost often than putting stuff in. George Saunders describes his process as a playful extraction of words in each phrase just to see what happens to the shape and meaning. He describes this as simply using your taste- see what appeals to you in a playful way rather then judging way while giving yourself all the benefit of the doubt like you would a dear friend.
Right, right, right. I hope people chime in. I sometimes taught revision intensives in the live, synchronous WITD workshops. It's a learned skill for sure, to make clay then shape it, and as you correctly intuit, it's entirely different than editing in the academic sense.
Chiming in: I like the clay metaphor, because clay is so malleable. With revision, we can add onto, we can cut away, we can move the parts around. Sometimes we lop off big chunks, and sometimes we are shaving with a thin blade. It's all about seeing what the piece is really about, making it more and more clear. Sometimes that comes through standing back and looking at it in a big picture way, and sometimes it comes through narrowing in. Sometimes changing a verb shifts a whole piece for me. I tend to go out and in and out again.
Absolutely this, all of it! Yes.