Is it possible we fiction writers are nothing more than escape artists who manage to write journals of our inner travels-hopefully in such a way that others willingly share our adventures? Fiction can be more enticing than reality. I would, after all, much rather imagine having a flat tire on a rainy night out in the middle of nowhere-with a complete story woven around it, full of interesting characters-than actually experience that flat tire and that wet, cold rain.
The one thing fiction may not appear to have, and which reality has in spades, is the reader’s or writer’s personal stake in the outcome. It might be easy to assume that anyone who lives with their head in the fictional world must care less than others about any personal stake in reality.
I believe it’s the opposite-it’s possible we care too much. We’ve reached our reality threshold. So instead of confronting reality head on in the usual physical world way, we couch it in story-a metaphor of reality.
I don’t know the following for a fact. I’m just wondering: The statement above may help explain the popularity of reading fiction and watching movies. These so-called escape activities provide a buffer between the individual and reality, a way of distancing oneself and perhaps temporarily attaining a more holistic perspective. Music does much the same thing, in a more abstract form.
One might think this type of activity is of minor importance, but I’d disagree. It’s possible we need it the way we need sleep and dreams. As an opportunity for the conscious mind to retreat while the unconscious works out our “real world” problems. The more frenetic our daily life becomes, the more retreat we may require.
Yet only those whose lives aren’t so frenetic or complicated have sufficient time to do more retreating into the mental shadows. Time for reflection, fiction, music, meditation and dreams. One can become caught up in the madness of reality. The mind can become almost hardwired for that real world activity-work, and its beast work ethic, business, money, politics, the right school for the kids, a perfect house and yard, a new car. One may forget how to turn it off, how to achieve a reflective or fictive mode of thought.
But our minds are more software than hardware, so this isn’t a natural state. In extreme cases of this reality hardwiring or crystallization in worldly affairs, whatever you want to call it, eventually the brain begins to numb thought or short-circuit memory. Melt-down begins. Burnout occurs. We become ill, or we simply drop out for a while, sometimes while still seated at our desks. Possibly we check out permanently. Everyone’s threshold is a little different.
Maybe we all have a personal stake in escape from this world. Maybe it’s best to chill out regularly. Listen to music, meditate, watch the clouds or stars sail by. Play with the kids or pets. Walk outdoors and notice what flowers bloom in other gardens. Dream. Share a memory. Tell stories around the campfire with friends. Or pick up a book, curl up in a favorite chair and read.
1.
If you are interested, I wrote about escape a while back. I wrote this entry after re-reading The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay, which is an amazing book that revolves around the theme of escape.
http://www.livejournal.com/users/peteydaddy/128301
Comment by Peter — February 9, 2005 @ 7:36 pm
2.
It’s hard for me to comment, but I’ll try. I read for pleasure, which I guess means escape. I also love listening to music, and taking long walks.
I must admit that my life is very nice (certainly hasn’t always been), but sometimes it’s nice to think about things that aren’t really part of the life you live. A mental vacation maybe?
Comment by cassie-b — February 10, 2005 @ 4:11 pm
3.
You must be a writer. Well done! I subscribe to all your thoughts, but they are often sent to the wrong address.
My mind never stops whirring – it’s a benevolent curse that sometimes exhausts me. I don’t have the ‘retreat’ gift. I can’t simply look at a garden, or turn on some music, or scratch my dog’s chin and enjoy watching her pleasure until her tail nearly wags off. My mind is always dissecting and processing. My roses are more than flowers – they are miracles of perfection that can sometimes prick my heart with annoyance because they are so perfect. Yet, their scent can also take me on a happy, giggly journey. Nuances of music can torment me with gladness or sadness when my vault of memories engulfs me. And when I hold another’s baby, I ache for the scent of talc that once was mine. And reading? You’re a writer – you know what reading is like for me. I see words before I see a story. I’m rarely anchored to any one moment. My head is filled with moments that mesh or collide. Even a peaceful gaze out a window erupts into a collage of images.
And my tail wagging dog? She revs up her tail the moment she sees me…but it’s all so sad…or wondrous, because I’ve been told the only emotions she knows are love and anger. So black and white.
Though I may sound whiny, I’m not. I feel blessed with my inability to retreat. My constant restlessness is the source of my creativity. But I do covet your gift – or is it a yearning like mine? Ahhh, but maybe I do retreat and my thoughts are my harbor?
Your journaling reminded me of a poem by Carmen Bernos de Gasztold from her ‘Prayers from the Ark & The Creatures’ Choir.’
THE PRAYER OF THE BUTTERFLY
Lord!
Where was I?
Oh yes! This flower, this sun,
thank you! Your world is beautiful!
This scent of roses…
Where was I?
A drop of dew
rolls to sparkle in a lily’s heart.
I have to go…
Where? I do not know!
The wind has painted fancies
on my wings.
Fancies…
Where was I?
Oh yes! Lord,
I had something to tell you:
Amen
Comment by Reenie — February 10, 2005 @ 6:31 pm
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Peter, Cassie and Reenie, what great comments. You’ve added to the essay , each in your unique way.
Peter, I read yours as well. Terrific! Thank you for the link.
Cassie, yes, I am also talking about “escape” simply as something different than the everyday. I’ve had problems in the past, but today an escape is more of a pleasant diversion. Or needed “quiet” time to actually write.
Reenie, you’re right, it is more of a wish on my part than a reality that I escape successfully. I also have a very busy mind, a common trait I think, among creatives. (I read somewhere that most insomniacs are creative people, and I’ve always had trouble sleeping.) A blessing and a curse at once.
Comment by Barbara — February 10, 2005 @ 10:42 pm