Writers Lab: the tendrils of tenderness
Exercise #10
Happy May 9, Lab Coats! If you haven’t introduced yourself yet, please feel free to do so here, in Chat, a place where all those subscribed to the Lab can get to know their fellow Sweethearts of the Storybelly Lab. You can start threads if you like, in Chat, and you’ll also find a post for each Lab Exercise in Chat, so feel free to participate in any way that works for you, come in and out and roundabout, and I’ll be right there with you. I’m so so glad you are all here!
If you are a free subscriber (thank you, thank you) and want to participate in the Lab, you can upgrade your subscription here, which will cost you a few dollars a month, stop whenever you like, and will give you access to all previous Assignments and Exhortations and all manner of ways to write and revise your story, your memoir, your poetry, your grocery lists. :> Toolbox stuff for everyday life and writing. And fun! Remember: All history is biography, and every person’s story is important. We tell our stories so they aren’t lost, and so that those who need them, can find them.
Let’s get right to it, with this week’s Lab post.
When I planned May’s theme and posts for the Writers Lab, I had pulled up a quote attributed to Tennessee Williams, to start our Lab post today:
The world is violent and mercurial — it will have its way with you. We are saved only by love — love for each other and the love that we pour into the art we feel compelled to share: being a parent; being a writer; being a painter; being a friend. We live in a perpetually burning building, and what we must save from it, all the time, is love.
This quote serves as a thought-continuation of last week’s Lab post Exercise, “It all turns on affection,” a quote from Wendell Berry in a speech he delivered in 2012 to the National Endowment for the Humanities, and it’s a continuation of last week’s Storybelly Digest, in which May’s theme was introduced with a quote from John Berger: “Tenderness is a defiant act of freedom.”
Tenderness, affection, sentimentality vs practicality, what you know first, letters to others or self, writers to show us the way, creating hope — these are all tools we’ve looked at so far in May (and it’s only May 9!)
So I was surprised, delightfully, to see my friends at
post a note a couple of days ago about this very Tennessee Williams quote. I believe this is (in part, anyway) an example of the synergy that happens in life, through like-mindedness, and on Substack. :> We seem to be on a similar wavelength right now, with Wendell Berry AND with Tennessee Williams. In any case, thanks to you, Alexandra and Brad, for such thoughtful words and beautiful art, always. I want to like and restack everything you post. :>Here is their Note with the Tennessee Williams quote (much more artfully displayed than mine):
Which brings me to this week’s Writers Lab Exercise (Assignment below, for those of you who are Lab Coats):
How do we write with tenderness that isn’t maudlin, saccharine, or — to use our word-of-the-month (one of several), sentimental. Overly sentimental, anyway. And do we sometimes WANT to write with the tenderness that veers into sentimentality?
It depends, eh? Depends on the piece, on the subject, on the mood of the writer, the writer’s voice, the audience for which this writing is meant, and what the writer wants to convey; there are decisions to be made.
Maybe empathy is a better word or way to look at how we write about something or someone with an eye toward curiosity and compassion but with some detachment that’s necessary so we don’t fall into saccharine poesy or prose. (Here I will admit that some of those saccharine poems — and songs! — are my favorites — You? I’ll put one of mine in Chat.)
We can’t be empathetic if we have never been in the position of someone we’re asked to sympathize with; if we’ve never been unhoused or unscathed or unemployed or… unusual. :> Or can we? We can’t be empathetic if we are, ourselves, in the midst of a mercurial moment of violence or poverty or if we are othered, ourselves. Or can we? Can we empathize with “the Pain” or “the Loss” or “the Grief” — the universal “the” — or does it need to be specific?
Writing asks these questions of us. There is no perfect or only correct answer, either. Each writer’s life is unique in the ways that they see themselves, others, and the world. Each writer’s voice is unique as well. You’ll see that in the Assignment this week.
Before we leave Tennessee Williams, I want to refer you to an excerpt from
’s excellent biography of Williams, Follies of God. If you aren’t a Lab Coat and even if you are but haven’t the time or bandwidth for the Assignment this week (it will be here when you are ready for it), I encourage you to read this excerpt for its beauty and for so many examples of that unity of opposites that we talked about in the Digest last month (and that we worked with in the Lab)… and as a revealing meditation on the complexity of loving our mothers… and happy Mother’s Day as well.One line from that excerpt:
“And so,” Tenn continued, “what I learned from Laurette Taylor, from my mother, from Menagerie is that we—writers, people—only conquer when we love, because when we love, we see clearly what is in front of us, and what was in our past, and what we own So love your characters, and by doing so you may ultimately come to love yourself.
Let’s talk about that, about how love interweaves with tenderness and sentimentality… and with practicality and other emotions — even hate — as well.
This is something I struggle mightily with right now, in my work in progress, as I try to write with honesty and courage about the Unite the Right rally in Charlottesville, Virginia in 2017, about The Lost Cause of the Confederacy and the Rise of White Supremacy (the original title for this book) and about growing up in the lap of the Lost Cause, surrounded by confusion as well as the people I loved and who loved me.
Also appearing in this week’s assignment: Harper Lee, Katherine Paterson, Sue Hubbell, and Anne Moody.
THE ASSIGNMENT: