Reading Between The Lines

'Books are the bees which carry the quickening pollen from one to another mind.'

James Russell Lowell

It was a timely decision to designate this year as the National Year of Reading. Literacy is fundamental to living in our society, to meeting the demands of everyday life and to discovering the magic contained within books. Yet even when we are literate, we run the risk of losing that magic. In this increasingly fast paced, hi-tech society we have become impatient, finding ourselves drawn to abbreviations rather than elaborations. Facebook and twitter reduce our news to paragraphs and sentences respectively, micro-fiction is blossoming, the pace of our stories is increasing, as is the speed with which they are delivered, until there is little time for contemplation, for pausing over a beautiful passage in a story, for allowing stories to seep into us and change us from within. And yet stories are vital. More than mere entertainment, they tell us who we are and they help us to find ourselves.

As Ralph Waldo Emmerson once said, 'I cannot remember the books I've read any more than the meals I have eaten; even so, they have made me.' Each of us is the product of the stories we tell ourselves, the stories our culture, our society, our family, our friends, our teachers, our filmmakers and our authors tell us. Story is what forms our identity and our opinions. But stories can do something else too. They can be truly revolutionary. When we read heroic myths, or novels which tell of the coming of age of a character, then we find that these stories can also help to free us from an identity that has been constructed by others and to see through the ideology in which we are immersed. Reading can and should help us to learn how to live as individuals within society, by encouraging us to reach inwards and explore ourselves and showing us how to reach out and connect with others.

Our imagination is a vital part of each of us. It is what makes us human, enabling us to experience events and emotions we might not normally experience, to reflect, to find commonality with others and thus understand ourselves. And most importantly, our imagination is what allows us to step into the shoes of others and so develop empathy. For as Joyce Carole Oates once wrote, reading helps us to 'slip, involuntarily, often helplessly, into another's skin, another's voice, another's soul,' A tool, a toy, a gift and a responsibility, the imagination is something which must be developed and nurtured, not ignored or stifled. Reading is a collaborative effort between the author and the reader, allowing the reader to use his or her imagination to bring a story to life. Hence, our frequent disappointment with film adaptations of novels, which rarely come close to the extraordinary world or the characters we have already created in our imaginations from reading the novel. For as Stephen King wrote in On Writing, 'description begins in the writer's imagination, but should finish in the reader's.

If the stories we tell ourselves, and the way in which we use our imaginations play a role in creating who we are, then it might not be enough to simply encourage reading, we might also need to consider what we choose to read and how we read. At present, many of our stories, across much of our media, celebrate violence and cynicism, anger and betrayal. A premium, it seems, is placed on ugliness, and stories that 'tell it how it is' receive accolades from critics. There is much that is ugly and violent in this world and much of it needs telling, but from chaos and pain it is possible, through story, to create harmony and peace. Why are we so afraid to tell stories that explore love and compassion and hope? Why do we so often deride them? If story can change us, then it can also change the world, so perhaps we should be writing and reading stories that are optimistic, that 'tell it how it might be' instead of 'how it is'. Franz Kafka once wrote that 'a book must be the axe for the frozen sea inside us'. These are the kinds of stories that I search for as a reader and the ones I seek to write. Stories should stay with us, should linger in our conscious and unconscious selves, working their magic even after we have finished with their writing, or their reading.

And as to how we read? Perhaps it's time to once more step beyond the limitations of the predominant story of science and rationality. Instead of insisting on the distinction between fact and fiction, or denigrating myth as false, we might then allow ourselves to read more deeply, exploring the nature of truth rather than fact. For not all truth is measurable. As Maya Angelou writes, 'There's a world of difference between truth and fact. Fact tells us the data. . . but facts can obscure the truth.' Stories can be unifying, building bridges between people but often it depends on how we read them. There are many stories that build fences, creating dangerous 'us and them' distinctions but this only happens when stories are read literally rather than metaphorically. Religious stories are sometimes an example of this. They are too often read literally, which misses a good deal of their beauty and wisdom, whilst creating fences that divide and divisions that kill. It happens too when we skim the surface of a story rather than peer into the depths; when we criticise or value a book for it's language and miss the beauty and purpose of its story; and when we dismiss a memoir because it is not entirely factual, missing the powerful emotional journey the writer has taken us on. In this year of reading, we must remember once again that truth is not fact. That, as the great Sufi poet, Rumi wrote, 'a tale, fictitious or otherwise, illuminates truth'.

Copyright (c) 2012 by Rosie Dub. All rights reserved. You may translate, link to or quote this article, in its entirety, as long as you include the author name and a working link back to this website:http://writeonthefringes.blogspot.co.uk/

Writing Through 2012

'The world is changing and we are changing with it. It is too soon perhaps to see how.'

Rosie Dub, Flight

It's only early March and I have already had a significant birthday, a new novel published and I've become a Doctor of Philosophy. There have been school holidays and guests, colds and overgrown gardens to attend to. Time seems to be speeding up, it's difficult (well actually impossible), to fit everything in each day. And not least of all, it's 2012; there are murmurings of dread in the air – whispers of prophecies and predictions, the end of the world, wars, earthquakes, social disruption. . . . The news is full of injustice and upheaval, insane violence and corruption. 'The Apocalypse,' people are saying. 'The Mayans predicted it for 2012. It is coming.'

Needless to say, so far this year I've found it difficult to settle down and write, difficult sometimes to even credit the value of writing or to focus on anything positive. Because hope is what keeps us moving forward, it's what keeps us creating when around us is destruction. Without hope, we find ourselves sinking into a mire of helplessness and with that comes a shadowy inertness that becomes stronger and darker each time it is fed. Caught in this helpless spiral I found myself sinking quickly, and seeking more fuel to feed this hopelessness. I stared at the blank screen on my computer and found nothing to say, stopped writing in my journal, forgot I had a new novel to write, a new story to tell, something that sought harmony through chaos and beauty through ugliness, something that just might help provide a little nudge towards making this world we have created into a better place. I forgot why I had written Flight, what gifts it had given me and a growing number of readers. In short, I forgot the power of hope.

'We do not inherit the earth from our parents, we borrow it from our children.' I read this anonymous quote many years ago and at the time it shifted something within me, helping me to see from a different perspective, one that is not so much 'me' centred but rather 'world' centred, a perspective that reveals a bigger picture and a sense of responsibility. When I read this again recently, I realised that with three children growing into an uncertain world, it is vital for me to keep the flame of hope burning. In fact, it is my responsibility.

'Enough,' I said to myself and set about making a few changes. Firstly, I made the decision not to watch the news for awhile, or anything else for that matter; no ruthless elimination shows, no violent dramas, no historical war documentaries and no flashy, inane celebrity shows. I went for a walk, then another, took up yoga again, made myself a vegetable juice – all the things I couldn't do when I was filled with hopelessness. Quickly I began feeling better. I looked at my journal again, went over what I had already written and once again began getting flashes of insights that I hoped would lead me back to my new novel. But all the time I kept wondering about this apocalypse business, wondering if it would be more useful to grow vegetables, put in a water tank, get off the grid, protect my children from the inevitable. . .

Frustrated, I looked up the word 'apocalypse' a term we associate with widespread destruction, with the end of the world as we know it. But in the definition I found something quite different. Apocalypse comes from the Greek word, apocalypsis, meaning a 'lifting of the veil' or 'revelation'. According to Wikipedia it means 'a disclosure of something hidden from the majority of mankind in an era dominated by falsehood and misconception'. Not an end then, far from it. Rather a time of change and a seeing through. A time perhaps when truth will be harder to hide. When humanity will look for different qualities in their leaders; integrity perhaps, compassion and honesty. Looking at it in this way, it is not an end but a possibility of a new beginning. With this definition in mind I can sit in front of my computer screen and find the words needed to create something new. Once again I have found hope and optimism and with it the possibility of action. And with that, the key to my new novel, Between Worlds.

Copyright (c) 2012 by Rosie Dub. All rights reserved. You may translate, link to or quote this article, in its entirety, as long as you include the author name and a working link back to this website:http://writeonthefringes.blogspot.co.uk/

Dr Dub at last!

'Knowledge is learning something new every day. Wisdom is letting go of something every day.'

Zen Proverb

It has taken six years, some of full-time study and some part-time, along with a few stops and starts and a transfer from one university to another, but finally I have completed my PhD. I've received my examiners reports (glowing), made the few minor amendments required from one examiner and submitted it once again. That's it. I'm done. The graduation ceremony isn't for six months but I'm not going to wait for that. Dr Dub it is! And I'm rightly proud of it.

So why undertake a PhD or an MA or any other course that involves writing? Firstly, there's the title – Dr Dub has quite a ring to it. However there are plenty of other reasons for doing a PhD, one of which is the potential for finding a well paid and secure job in a university, something which most writers only dream of. Another reason to study in this way is to find a space in which to write, with a framework and a discipline that is imposed from the outside in the form of supervisors and deadlines. This is why I did my MA in Writing a number of years ago in the UK. I began it when my first child was six months old and finished it two years later when my second child was six months old. I have little memory of those two years of sleepless nights, part time work in London, classes in Sheffield, morning sickness and deadlines. However, aside from a certificate bestowing me with the honour of an MA, what emerged from these two years was a novel. And that is another reason for doing study in this area – it's fruitful. You can't just start a project, stop it and start another. You have to see it through! In an educational institution there is also guidance and constructive criticism that helps us to find a way through the bleak patches. This guidance comes from the teachers but also from fellow students, all those other people who are mad enough to want to write. There's the potential for friendships too, based on common interests, feedback and support through all those difficult times when you want to give up and when the support is not coming from elsewhere.

Some people say that writing can't be taught, that these courses are simply fleecing students. I disagree. The art of writing can only be found through learning the craft and in many cases this needs to be taught. Quite a few years ago when I did my BA, I majored in creative writing and loved it. I made long lasting friendships and learned a lot of useful theory but the emphasis in the University I attended was on experimental writing and I found there was a subtle pressure to conform. I left with a BA and no idea how to construct a story or create convincing characters. It was only when I joined the MA program at Sheffield Hallam University, that I learned about technique, something which then allowed me to find my voice as a writer, identify the stories I had to tell and tell them with some measure of success.

For me the PhD was different than my previous courses because I didn't do it in order to learn how to write fiction. In fact, initially my interest in story and its inherent structure, led me to begin a purely theoretical PhD, called Story: Mapping the Journey to Self. I channelled my research into this, whilst trying to write a novel 'on the side'. However, what began as a simple desire to understand the structure, origins and purpose of story, became much more: an attempt to understand the essence of creativity, the dual functions of memory and imagination and the complex nature of truth. My interests grew and I struggled to keep within the confines of my initial plans for the thesis.

Work on my thesis was interrupted when my novel, Gathering Storm was accepted by Penguin and I began the process of editing. It was interrupted again during the excitement of publication. Then unexpectedly for a third time it was interrupted when I found my interest shifting to my new novel and realised that the research I had been doing for my thesis was reappearing in Flight. It felt like an alchemical process, as I unconsciously transmuted theory into fiction. Through story I was exploring themes such as: the power of words; the nature of story and its patterns; patterns of human behaviour; the journey of the soul, illustrated in Flight through shamanic initiation; the role of memory and imagination in creativity; and the legacy of memory, through personal experience, ancestral inheritance and through the repeating patterns of past lives.

Speaking publicly about Gathering Storm helped me to realise that my own writing was a cathartic process for me. I had been unconsciously weaving my memories, and the themes that were pertinent in my life, into fictional stories. The process of transformation I was exploring in my thesis was playing out, both in my fiction and in my life. I became intrigued by the process. Could I weave these ideas in without detracting from the story? Could I illustrate these ideas through the journey of the major characters rather than through exposition? To do this I had to digest the theory, rather than reiterate it, trusting instead that it would somehow transmute into fiction. When my interest in this process did not wane I realised that I was writing a different thesis and changed my theoretical PhD to a more practice led one.

So was it worth doing a PhD? Yes, very much so, and I'm pleased now that I worked with both fiction and theory, exploring the way in which the two work together. What I found most precious in doing my PhD was the space it provided me, in which to think, to discover my true interests and the direction I want to take my research in the future. What has emerged from this space is a novel and a supporting theoretical document that are both deeply enriched by my research, practical experience and personal reflection. From studying the work of others and fusing it with my own experience and ideas, I have been able to find that 'something new' which is the aim of the PhD. Instead of an end, this feels like a beginning, a passport to follow my interests and become a specialist in my field. Story!

Copyright (c) 2012 by Rosie Dub. All rights reserved. You may translate, link to or quote this article, in its entirety, as long as you include the author name and a working link back to this website:http://writeonthefringes.blogspot.co.uk/