Tuesday, February 5, 2008 at 12:12am
What the great diva knows about great writing
Column: Writing Down Your Soul
Writing about Writing, Part 6
Maybe it's because I'm floating around in a theta brain wave state all the time, but somehow everything I see or read or hear fits what I'm trying to say in this unusual series about writing. I've read all the great books on writing and, truth be told, loved every single one. Each book explored the process from a slightly different angle, offering different exercises and different but equally luscious bits of advice, but none of them talk about writing a book in the way I experienced writing a book. And it's that experience I want to share with you, because I think there's something useful here, possibly even universal.
Writing is an art form, yes, but I don't want to leave anyone with the impression that it's mysterious or unattainable or meant for someone else. I believe that anyone who wants to learn to write can learn to write well, or at least better. My job is to share with you what worked for me. Your job is to decide if you want to write. If you do, Kiri Te Kanawa has some brilliant advice for you.
Kiri Te Kanawa? The opera star? Mozart, OK. After all, he wrote music. But Dame Kiri sings music. What could she possibly have to say about singing that can teach us about writing?
Everything.
Dame Kiri is stopping in Tampa this February on her farewell tour. For me, this is big news. I adore opera. I heard my first live performance of the Metropolitan Opera during its off-season tour in Atlanta in the early '80s. From the first thrilling notes, opera grabbed my soul and has never loosed its grip. I still listen to opera every chance I get. Kiri Te Kanawa was my first prima donna idol. I listened to her tapes until they wobbled so badly in the tape player that they wreaked havoc on her voice. When that happened, I just bought new ones. I replaced several of her tapes several times. So when I opened the Latitudes section of the St. Petersburg Times this Sunday and saw a two-page full-color article on Kiri Te Kanawa, I pushed the rest of the paper aside and sat up in bed, ready to devour every word.
Kiri Te Kanawa's singing never disappointed me and neither did her words: "All singing comes from the rib cage. It happens in your throat, of course, but most of the work is being done down below, in the rib cage and your breathing. That's where I did all my singing from. It's like having the engine room working but not seeing it happen. Your voice is just the end of the air flow." (St. Petersburg Times, Feb. 3, 2008)
I can hear you saying, "So, what's singing from the rib cage got to do with writing my book?" I think there's a huge parallel. What we love about music is what we hear: the notes, the melody, the soaring voice, whether it's rock or jazz or country or opera. The sound enters our hearts, triggers an emotional response, and moves in, sometimes permanently. From then on, we recognize that melody and respond to it by singing along or swaying or just feeling it swell in our hearts. Even people with dementia, who cannot remember their own children, will instantly start singing along to the hymns and songs of their childhood. Long after my grandmother lost her beloved husband's name, she could sing every chorus of "Take Me Out to the Ball Game."
Given the impact of music in our lives, I think it's terribly interesting to hear a great singer say that a singer shouldn't focus on the end product — the song or the sound. He or she should focus on the engine that produces the sound.
In the same way, a writer shouldn't focus on the words. Not at first. If you sit in front of a blank page or a white computer screen and say to yourself, "I am going to write my book (or that blog or that proposal) now," forming that first sentence can quickly become a rare form of torture. You write. You shake your head. You erase and try again. Delete and try again. Delete, try, delete, try ... until an hour or a day or a week goes by and still that opening sentence remains elusive. It's somewhere else, off the page, around the corner, in the future — anywhere but where you are. When that happens, it's so easy to walk away mumbling, "I can't write."
If this has happened to you, take Kiri Te Kanawa's advice and don't think about the words. Think about the engine. What is the engine? Now, that is a profound question for a writer — perhaps the profound question. What is the engine for your book? Well, consider how music penetrates our skin and zaps our hearts. In the same way, the engine of your book is the thought, the feeling, the symbol that pops off the page and pierces the reader's mind and heart. It's the idea your reader can't shake off once he or she has absorbed it.
Focus on that idea. That core idea is the engine purring under every page of your book. Turn your attention to that engine and the words will follow. So, instead of working on the perfect opening sentence, sit at the computer and ask yourself: What idea do I want the reader to get? What feeling do I want to share? What experience? What emotion? If I could travel inside the words of my book as they leap from the page in the reader's hand to the receptive spot in the reader's heart, what would I find when I got there? What is my purpose? My message? My heart's desire?
Ask yourself those questions, and sooner or later you'll discover your engine. Focus on that engine, and let the words follow. They will leap of their own accord out of your fingers and onto the keyboard, and your book will begin to take form. Driven by your powerful and unique engine, you will write something that hasn't been written before; you will say something that hasn't been said before.
And then, with the engine on the page, we can begin to talk about fine tuning. In the Sunday article, Kiri Te Kanawa said that a small shift in the vocal cords produces a different sound. In the same way, some small shifts in language placement and emphasis can produce a different "sound" in your book. In other words, next week we are going to talk about every writer's favorite activity — editing!
— — —
Janet Conner teaches people how to connect directly to Spirit to receive the guidance and direction they need to create the life they want. Her new book, "Writing Down Your Soul: How to Activate and Listen to the Extraordinary Voice Within," comes out this fall from Conari Press. Janet is also the creator of Spiritual Geography, a comprehensive spiritual-healing system that has been called "the first true innovation in healing the broken heart." "Spiritual Geography" workbooks are available through Amazon or Spiritual Geography. Contact Janet at {email janetconner@tampabay.rr.com}janetconner@tampabay.rr.com{/email}.© Copyright 2008 by Janet Conner.
Maybe it's because I'm floating around in a theta brain wave state all the time, but somehow everything I see or read or hear fits what I'm trying to say in this unusual series about writing. I've read all the great books on writing and, truth be told, loved every single one. Each book explored the process from a slightly different angle, offering different exercises and different but equally luscious bits of advice, but none of them talk about writing a book in the way I experienced writing a book. And it's that experience I want to share with you, because I think there's something useful here, possibly even universal.
Writing is an art form, yes, but I don't want to leave anyone with the impression that it's mysterious or unattainable or meant for someone else. I believe that anyone who wants to learn to write can learn to write well, or at least better. My job is to share with you what worked for me. Your job is to decide if you want to write. If you do, Kiri Te Kanawa has some brilliant advice for you.
Kiri Te Kanawa? The opera star? Mozart, OK. After all, he wrote music. But Dame Kiri sings music. What could she possibly have to say about singing that can teach us about writing?
Everything.
Dame Kiri is stopping in Tampa this February on her farewell tour. For me, this is big news. I adore opera. I heard my first live performance of the Metropolitan Opera during its off-season tour in Atlanta in the early '80s. From the first thrilling notes, opera grabbed my soul and has never loosed its grip. I still listen to opera every chance I get. Kiri Te Kanawa was my first prima donna idol. I listened to her tapes until they wobbled so badly in the tape player that they wreaked havoc on her voice. When that happened, I just bought new ones. I replaced several of her tapes several times. So when I opened the Latitudes section of the St. Petersburg Times this Sunday and saw a two-page full-color article on Kiri Te Kanawa, I pushed the rest of the paper aside and sat up in bed, ready to devour every word.
Kiri Te Kanawa's singing never disappointed me and neither did her words: "All singing comes from the rib cage. It happens in your throat, of course, but most of the work is being done down below, in the rib cage and your breathing. That's where I did all my singing from. It's like having the engine room working but not seeing it happen. Your voice is just the end of the air flow." (St. Petersburg Times, Feb. 3, 2008)
I can hear you saying, "So, what's singing from the rib cage got to do with writing my book?" I think there's a huge parallel. What we love about music is what we hear: the notes, the melody, the soaring voice, whether it's rock or jazz or country or opera. The sound enters our hearts, triggers an emotional response, and moves in, sometimes permanently. From then on, we recognize that melody and respond to it by singing along or swaying or just feeling it swell in our hearts. Even people with dementia, who cannot remember their own children, will instantly start singing along to the hymns and songs of their childhood. Long after my grandmother lost her beloved husband's name, she could sing every chorus of "Take Me Out to the Ball Game."
Given the impact of music in our lives, I think it's terribly interesting to hear a great singer say that a singer shouldn't focus on the end product — the song or the sound. He or she should focus on the engine that produces the sound.
In the same way, a writer shouldn't focus on the words. Not at first. If you sit in front of a blank page or a white computer screen and say to yourself, "I am going to write my book (or that blog or that proposal) now," forming that first sentence can quickly become a rare form of torture. You write. You shake your head. You erase and try again. Delete and try again. Delete, try, delete, try ... until an hour or a day or a week goes by and still that opening sentence remains elusive. It's somewhere else, off the page, around the corner, in the future — anywhere but where you are. When that happens, it's so easy to walk away mumbling, "I can't write."
If this has happened to you, take Kiri Te Kanawa's advice and don't think about the words. Think about the engine. What is the engine? Now, that is a profound question for a writer — perhaps the profound question. What is the engine for your book? Well, consider how music penetrates our skin and zaps our hearts. In the same way, the engine of your book is the thought, the feeling, the symbol that pops off the page and pierces the reader's mind and heart. It's the idea your reader can't shake off once he or she has absorbed it.
Focus on that idea. That core idea is the engine purring under every page of your book. Turn your attention to that engine and the words will follow. So, instead of working on the perfect opening sentence, sit at the computer and ask yourself: What idea do I want the reader to get? What feeling do I want to share? What experience? What emotion? If I could travel inside the words of my book as they leap from the page in the reader's hand to the receptive spot in the reader's heart, what would I find when I got there? What is my purpose? My message? My heart's desire?
Ask yourself those questions, and sooner or later you'll discover your engine. Focus on that engine, and let the words follow. They will leap of their own accord out of your fingers and onto the keyboard, and your book will begin to take form. Driven by your powerful and unique engine, you will write something that hasn't been written before; you will say something that hasn't been said before.
And then, with the engine on the page, we can begin to talk about fine tuning. In the Sunday article, Kiri Te Kanawa said that a small shift in the vocal cords produces a different sound. In the same way, some small shifts in language placement and emphasis can produce a different "sound" in your book. In other words, next week we are going to talk about every writer's favorite activity — editing!
— — —
Janet Conner teaches people how to connect directly to Spirit to receive the guidance and direction they need to create the life they want. Her new book, "Writing Down Your Soul: How to Activate and Listen to the Extraordinary Voice Within," comes out this fall from Conari Press. Janet is also the creator of Spiritual Geography, a comprehensive spiritual-healing system that has been called "the first true innovation in healing the broken heart." "Spiritual Geography" workbooks are available through Amazon or Spiritual Geography. Contact Janet at {email janetconner@tampabay.rr.com}janetconner@tampabay.rr.com{/email}.© Copyright 2008 by Janet Conner.