Read like a Writer, or Reading in the Moment
Musings by Lisa Torcasso Downing
I have a moving image in my mind that I replay as if it were film. It stars a child ( a boy I think, even if his hair is long) and he sits, hidden away in a dark recess–an attic, a basement, an old, empty barn–with only his eyes showing above the collar of his jacket. He beams a flashlight on the pages of a book. Although I cannot see most of his face, the rise of his brow, the trepidation in his eyes, tell me something unusual is going on. The camera in my mind rotates, moving smoothly from the front of the boy around him, until I am looking over his shoulder, until the viusal I see is of the open book. He reads the last word on the page, then turns it–but the new page is blank. Empty. White.
But then the child’s eyes begin to move right to left, and words pop onto the page, appearing no faster or slower than the child’s eyes can take them in. He feels the importance of every word, pays close attention to them, because the story exists only up to the point he is reading.
This is how a writer must read.
In pop psychology circles, the notion of living in the moment moves in and out of common discourse. Generally speaking, we accept the idea that it is better to live in the here and now than to dwell on the past or overvalue the future. All that matters is present with us.
This concept translates effectively to the reading experience. Just as the child in my brain film absorbed only the words as he arrived at them, so must writers concentrate on “living” in the moment that each word represents–because this is where the power of every story lies.
The power to create meaning out of words is something reader response theorists suggest rests in the hands of the reader. Of course it is correct that any given reader might, for instance, apply a different rate of speed to the word “slow.” But what the reader response theorists don’t seem to understand is that each word the individual reads is (or should be) placed on the page by a writer whose purpose is to manipulate, to control the experience the reader has. Put bluntly, an effective writer is a manipulator.
While the “word “manipulator” has negative connotations, it is precisely the right term. Those little black marks a writer puts on a page can completely transform a person’s state of mind in a matter of moments. The ability to order words in such a way that their placement causes a happy person to weep with sorrow is power. Maybe it is fair to say that the reader maintains the power to attach meaning to words, but it is the writer who controls the placement of those words and who, therefore, controls the reader.
Control: How do writers learn that control?
Answer: Read in the moment. Writers, myself included, are often tempted to read ahead of themselves, to use their knowledge of the craft to anticipate what will occur in the text. There can be value in this, I suppose, because it keeps us always wondering how we would handle, for instance, plotting. But danger lurks in this form of reading because the story is not our story. It is irrelevant how we would handle another writer’s story, a waste of our time. Not only that, reading this way tends to position us as the critic is positioned, as one who evaluates the strengths and weaknesses of a story and passes a judgement.
I suggest that reading is a more effective educational tool when a writer abandons his inclination to critque and remembers how it felt to read when in childhood, before he or she had enough experience with stories or the writing of them to hazard a guess about what comes next. Practice forgetting that there is a next page and concentrate on what you think and feel as you work your way through a story. Absorb words one at a time. Become aware of the connotation, the sound of the word, its beat and rhythm and how these work together to create in you what you feel as you read. How do these simple black marks on a page move you toward meaning? What about this word; what about this phrase built by these words; what about these passages built by these phrases built by these words create in you the sense of place, character, mood, and tone? What do you feel in the here-and-now of the page?
The key to reading like a writer is to learn to examine your response to a text, not to examine the text itself. Focus on your personal responses as they happen. Read as if, like the fictional child in the opening of this post, there will be no next word until you completely focus on the one your eyes are drinking in. Remember, recognizing how words manipulate you will teach you how your words will manipulate others.
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May 21st, 2009 at 1:41 pm
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Yes. I think to many would-be writers forget the micro and focus only on the macro. I have an idea, I am a writer (and so forth).
May 21st, 2009 at 2:07 pm
I used to be ashamed about how easy it was for me to slide in to a narrative and read in the moment because I thought it made me less of a critic or rather it was in conflict with my literary critic side. And then I got over myself and realized that there is nothing wrong with being fanboyish at times and curmudgeonly at others, and, in fact, it’s a more fulfilling way to go about things because you can geek out to the best lens of viewing things of both.
May 22nd, 2009 at 9:34 am
I can see what you’re saying. It’s kind of like Wordsworth’s idea that poetry comes from tranquilly recollecting passionate moments. You dive into the text and wallow in it (unless it just stinks too bad), enjoying it to the fullest. Then, when you’re done, you step back and say, “Now how did that magic work?”