Barry Lopez

Barry Lopez writes about nature, people, and places. Lopez was on a plane crossing the Pacific, and, in the process, writing. His seatmate noticed and asked if he was a writer. One thing led to another, until the man revealed that his fifteen-year-old daughter wanted to be a writer. What advice would he give her?

Barry Lopez said: "Tell your daughter three things: 1) Tell her to read, anything that interests her; 2) Learn who she is, her convictions, values, beliefs. She must write out of her own beliefs, not those handed down, caught or taught. Until she knows herself, she will write nothing of much value; 3) Travel. Get out of town. Leave the familiar.

Every writer I have read, who writes on writing, emphasizes Lopez's first piece of advice. Writers must be readers. They also concur that a writer must write out of their own soul. It must ring true. Readers best connect with that writing that makes them feel that a real person, an actual human, is speaking to them in print. Lopez's third piece of advice is valid and appropriate, However there have been notable exceptions, writers who never left their familiar territory, Emily Dickenson, for one.

If you have interest in nature and geography, Lopez is a good place to begin number one. Read Barry Lopez, a recipient of the National Book Award for nonfiction.

Blog Worth Writing?

Someone who appreciates my other blogs, told me that this one would be useless. They judged that all readers would also be writers and already know everything I might post. This, in my judgment, presented an invalid assessment, in that I doubt that all of you are writers. Also, I suspect that some of you have only recently started writing; you just might get some use out of some posts. And who knows, no one may read it at all. If so, that is okay with me.

I will write it, and that will be good for me. I have spent almost fifty years speaking before the public, as a Christian minister and as a college teacher. In the beginning, I wanted to sound like Carlyle Marney or Curtis Vaughn. Later other models came that I attempted to follow. I hoped to pattern my speaking after them. I have no idea how long it was nor how soon that I found, in the course of regular–almost daily–public speaking, I was not following any of them. I didn’t even think of them. I was following my passion, and it shaped my style of speaking–a very distinctive style, one that was clearly mine. I had found my voice.

Although I have been writing for a few years, I didn’t have that same feel about my writing. Numerous books, articles, and writers workshops have emphasized the need to find your own writing "voice." One page of Annie Proulx’s writing is enough to recognize the author, once you are familiar with her interesting output. It takes less than a page to know you are reading Hemingway, or Patrick Voss or Anne Lamott. I have not written enough on a daily basis for my voice to show up. I suspect readers reading different things I have written would say, "This doesn’t sound like the same author as that."

One thing I intend, one purpose of writing these blogs is to develop my own, unconscious, un-self-conscious, consistent "voice." Another value of writing on writing is that it will serve as a continuing process of reviewing the things that I’ve read, heard, and learned about writing.

So this is not a pointless blog. As Lucindy Packer posted a note on her desk, saying, "Never feel useless. You can always serve as a bad example." I expect that I have learned as much, in all parts of my life, by observing bad examples as I have from good and inspiring examples.

Useless Blog?

Someone said this would be a useless blog. They judged that all readers would also be writers and already know everything I might post. This, in my judgment, posed an inaccurate assessment, in that I doubt that all of you are writers. Also, I suspect that some of you have only recently started writing; you just might get some use out of some posts. And who knows, no one may read it at all. If so, that is okay with me.

I will write it, and that will be good for me. I have spent almost fifty years speaking before the public, as a Christian minister and as a college teacher. In the beginning, I wanted to sound like Carlyle Marney or Curtis Vaughn. Later other models came that I attempted to follow. I hoped to pattern my speaking after them. I have no idea how long it was nor how soon that I found, in the course of regular–almost daily–public speaking, I was not following any of them. I didn’t even think of them. I was following my passion, and it shaped my style of speaking–a very distinctive style, one that was clearly mine. I had found my voice.

Although I have been writing for a few years, I didn’t have that same feel about my writing. Numerous books, articles, and writers workshops have emphasized the need to find your own writing "voice." One page of Annie Proulx’s writing is enough to recognize the author, once you are familiar with her interesting output. It takes less than a page to know you are reading Hemingway, or Patrick Voss or Anne Lamott. I have not written enough on a daily basis for my voice to show up. I suspect readers reading different things I have written would say, "This doesn’t sound like the same author as that."

One thing I intend, one purpose of writing these blogs is to develop my own, unconscious, un-self-conscious, consistent "voice." Another value of writing on writing is that it will serve as a continuing process of reviewing the things that I’ve read, heard, and learned about writing.

So this is not a pointless blog. As Lucindy Packer posted a note on her desk, saying, "Never feel useless. You can always serve as a bad example." I expect that I have learned as much, in all parts of my life, by observing bad examples as I have from good and inspiring examples.

ROARK ON WRITING

Writing is learning. When we put words together on paper, we discover our mind. The process of writing uncovers, and accesses not only consciousness but also the unconscious. We are surprised by what we didn’t realize we knew. In writing we explore that entire archive called memory. The act of choosing definite words, phrases, and structure calls forth the hidden. Brainstorming, free-writing exercises break through all kinds of inhibitions that repress the vast store of knowledge we have acquired but to which we had lost access.

Writing therefore, is inevitably revelatory. Our self is infallibly exposed in print. Our choice of topic, style, word tells who we are. Though we choose a rigorously objective, dispassionate approach, seeking to hide our self, we thereby demonstrate elements of our character.

Even when we have traveled other paths of learning, writing helps clarify our thoughts. It demands that we choose between linguistic options. Ideas are elusive: now we have them clearly in mind, now we can't bring them into focus--sometimes never again--unless we have preserved them in writing. Then we have them fixed and stable on a page, available for examination and reconsideration. We can safely lay them aside and pick them up at leisure. This process leads to the editing and rewriting that sharpens focus. Finally we can express exactly what we think. Writing is a form of thinking.

Writing often makes the transition from learning and thinking to artistic creation. The two major elements all definitions of art must consider are form and expression. We do not write long before we become concerned with how our words look on the page. Appearance communicates. If, in seeking to understand what we have written, we read it aloud—a wise practice—to ourselves, we often will find ways to revise and improve the sound. The sonority of words, and their rhythm or lack of it, communicates.

Once we begin rearranging our writing not just to clarify meaning, but to yield more pleasing form, we may discover that writing is fun. Writing enjoyed becomes a source of therapy, bringing a degree of healing to our troubled spirits.

Writing for our own edification is one thing, writing for publication is another. When he was a reporter for The Kansas City Star, Hemingway judged that no one should write anything for publication unless it had not been said before, or we could say it better than others had done. We should hear Hemingway. Our world—and often our mind—is already cluttered by huge heaps of literary trash, trivia, and fallacy. Unless we can improve the situation, we do well to maintain a modest silence.

On the other hand, some of us believe we have something that must be said if our life is not to have been wasted, things we dare not die without having offered as a testimony. No one else has written it, has addressed it to the proper readers, or said it clearly and persuasively. We sense that we dare not leave it unsaid.

The California longshoreman, Eric Hoffer, responded when an editor at Harper and Row asked him to expand his relatively short first manuscript, by saying that each paragraph had at least one good sentence, each page had at least one good paragraph, and each chapter had at least one good idea. Hoffer claimed that this was more than could be found in most of the books published by Harper. Perhaps if we measure up to Hoffer’s standard, we can justify seeking to publish our writing.

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