I was having a conversation with Andrew McAlpine before he left for Tennessee, and I found another thing that I have in common with him. We were talking about lyrics, and we agreed that, often, an abstract lyric, one that could be considered nonsensical, suits a song better than a reasonable or down to earth lyric. We both love english, and we love writing, and I think he’d agree with me when I say that sometimes good writing transcends a words meaning.
I think a pretty good example of this can be found in some Wilco songs. I’ll try to come up with actual albums and tracks. But this post isn’t about songs, or lyrics, it’s about writing.
Despite what Strunk and White will tell you, writing isn’t about following rules. It’s not about having correct grammar or sentence structure. These things help literature to be readable, but I think we lose as a creative culture when we make “writing” all about following the rules. Language is a vehicle to engage the understanding of another person. If you’re really good, you can go beyond that and engage the imagination. You can transport them. But you don’t do that by thinking first about your rules. The less you can think about them, the better. The quality of your work will show in how your readers (or listeners, to you lyricists) relate to it. How it connects with them. That is the only indicator of your effectiveness, that is the only metric that matters.
Don’t be afraid of saying something that doesn’t make any sense. If it fits, if it is the right ingredient for whatever you are creating lyrically, and if you are genuine, it will work. Or it won’t. But at that point, it’s up to your audience to invest the words that you’ve created with their own soul. To be transported, you have to be open to it.
I say all of that, because tonight I wanted to write. I wanted to take you on a trip. My aunt, in one of her last poems, described it as her “souls journey”.
In Peralandra, C.S. Lewis writes a chapter about a man on a road, who does not want to proceed, but must. Or, does want to proceed, but must not. In the grip of fear, the line between need and justification blurs. In any event, the writing is forceful. By the end of it, I was clenchig the book in agitation. I was transported. But it takes guts to write that sort of thing, to take yourself seriously enough to do it, and then to do it. I am wanting. Maybe the biggest hurdle of any writing endeavor is letting other people see the part of it that you feel silly about.
How do the two link? For the first part, know that there are metaphors. In the world, in life, all around. And not just metaphors, there are also things that are so abstract that their meaning doesn’t make sense in the context that we find them in…but their feel, their fit, their cadence does. If we sacrifice these things to the “rules” we will be universally stymied. To write, forcefully, you need to have an equal measure of purpose and conviction, then you need to have the guts to forget the rules and write. Write and don’t be embarassed by it. Write, not to create something great with language, but to communicate a great idea. Language is a tool that can be used to connect with people. What you are able to do when that connection is made, that seperates the wheat from the chaff. Write not just with words but with stops, with cadence, write lyrically. Writing should strive to be beautiful even without context.
If you’ve made it this far, you may have noticed that I managed to avoid writing what I meant to. I don’t have the courage to make the metaphor for my soul. Maybe I don’t have the understanding, but I definitely don’t have the courage. One day soon, I may take you down the rain-slicked cobble roads, twisting as they go, to whatever intersection I happen to be at, right then. And maybe, if I’m lucky, you’ll feel for a moment, just a little less sure-footed. A bit cooler than you had. Almost, maybe, perhaps, somewhat, transported.
But not tonight.