When someone tells me they cannot put their thoughts into writing, that the process is out of reach, I’ve recently begun giving standard advice: Read Jack Kerouac. On discovering his work a few years ago, I experienced a creative epiphany, realizing, “I can write like that!” This led to alternately writing short pieces and reading more of his work. By the time I had finished six of his novels that summer, my self-confidence was solid.
Jack Kerouac and Allen Ginsberg invented a whole new kind of literature, what came to be known as “beat.” What’s so great and so inspiring about these guys and why did their work affect me? The answer lies in three phases of my attempts at writing which parallel those of nearly all writers. At first, my whole creative being was directed toward that elusive Holy Grail, publication. This consumed and warped every paragraph put to the keyboard. After years of rejections, my interest in writing waned. But, as with anyone with ideas, this state was temporary.
My next phase bypassed thoughts of publication and became more realistic, though hardly less valid as I began writing what I believed people would like. Not so bad. The missing element, as you already suspect, was me. So, my first solid directive to any new writer becomes: Write for yourself! And here enters Kerouac.
We tend to model our sentences and paragraphs after what we read and hear. We see this as good writing. This falls into what we might call the school paradigm. It shouldn’t take much reflection to realize how labored the result sounds. Would you enjoy an evening of high school essays? No sentence fragments, common, easily understood metaphors, a pabulum, in short, suitable for any teacher in any classroom? If your goal centers on correct writing, follow the advice of Ms. Vanderguild in the twelfth grade; if you want to be original, exciting, and express your real thoughts, ideas, and passion, travel down the road not taken. This brings us to the technique known as “streaming.”
Our minds do not function in a logical way. We learn tools of expression to communicate effectively, but when we seek originality, these tools must become as flexible as heated plastic. In fact they become plastic, surrendering to new forms, new shapes. Streaming derives from the phrase “stream of consciousness,” the flow of raw thought closest to the way our minds behave. Streaming is the language of pure imagery. Words and phrases, outrageous at times, flow along this stream ready for our use. An example: “sinking into the flesh of Los Angeles pavements” to express the erotic nature of that city. E. E. Cummings was a master of juxtaposing images to fill the gap left by standard English with phrases like “The world is mud-luscious and puddle-wonderful” and “eyes big love-crumbs.”
Streaming becomes, if you let it, metaphor creation, and metaphor allows us to find notes in our writing between those of the standard scale. By juxtaposing images, we create, necessarily, a new image. We bring into writing our own originality
- the piney seawater air
- tanned under the then fishing sun
- the sound of fragrant fall
- rattling tortillas on a hot skillet
Images smashing into one another — potent, jolting, and expressive images yet easily understood.
All of us can write; we simply need to flow with our thoughts rather than attempt to sound good. Read a copy of On the Road, Jack Kerouac’s first book, sit down before the blank screen of a word processor, forget Ms.Vanderguild, and be amazed at what you can create. I certainly was and have traveled that road ever since.
