Becoming a writer by Dorothea Brande

Can you teach creative writing? In the words of Dorothea Brande: "There is a sort of writer's magic... which can, in part, be taught."

Is that true?

I've heard of this book before (published in 1934) but didn't realise until recently that you can now read it online here.



What I really liked about Becoming a writer is that it isn't full of writing exercises (there are a few), but instead it talks about the writing "temperament" - the difference between the conscious and the unconscious mind, and which does what in your writing life, and how you keep them in check or foster them or help them to work together. "Becoming a writer," she declares, "is mainly a matter of cultivating a writer's temperament."

Her solution is that "you must teach yourself not as though you were one person, but two" - in other words, the conscious and the unconscious mind. I love her reasons for why you should never talk about what you're writing. And here she describes the genesis of a story:

"...the story arises in the unconscious. It then appears, sometimes only vaguely prefigured, at other times astonishingly definite, in the consciousness. There it is scrutinized, pruned, altered, strengthened, made more spectacular or less melodramatic; and is returned into the unconscious for the final synthesis of its elements. After a period of intense activity—which, however, goes on at so deep a level that the author himself occasionally feels he has "forgotten" or "lost" his idea—it once again signals to the conscious that the work of synthesis has been done; and the actual writing of the story begins."

So who was Dorothea Brande? According to Wikipedia, she was a well-respected writer and editor in New York (1893 – 1948.) She also wrote Wake up and live which was made into a musical. Some parts of Becoming a writer, and the overall tone, come across as surprisingly modern. Other parts betray its age ("Now that everyone has his portable typewriter...") But overall it is so readable and full of elegant little gems like this: "the first step toward being a writer is to hitch your unconscious mind to your writing arm."

Strange fruit

I've already mentioned this installation by Donna Sarten, currently on display at the NZ Academy of Fine Arts on Queen's Wharf.But now I've been to see it as well, and I loved it.

It consists of 3890 military "dog tags", most of them individually stamped with a soldier's name and ID number, although some are blank because of missing information or to represent those men who, for various reasons, might not want to be identified. Some are cut in half, to show the men who died.

On the other side of the silver dog tags are pictures of red pomegranates. One of the things I liked about this exhibition was learning that the word for pomegranate in French is "pomme grenade", which gives us our word "grenade", perhaps because the two objects - fruit and weapon - are similar shaped. But whereas one contains seeds, the other holds tiny balls of shrapnel. The comparison is even more ironic given that the pomegranate is an ancient symbol of fertility, whereas the grenade is a symbol of suffering and death.

The dog tags are suspended - at approximately but not exactly the same height - by red threads from a meshwork grid near the ceiling.One side is a silver shimmer as it catches the light. On the other side, the red of the pomegranates and the hanging threads remind you of dripping blood, or the tint of a sunset sky, but of rich fruitfulness as well.

Each dog tag stands for an individual (the NZ soldiers who served in Vietnam), but together they make up one big group that nudges you to think of the wider groups beyond these names: the families that sent them and waited for them to return. They also make you ponder on how often disasters and wars are summarised in lists of casualties and combatants, but how people are more than just numbers.

And although I saw it indoors, it has also been shown outdoors, as here at the NZ Sculpture OnShore 2010 exhibition:

First year at art school

First year print making at Elam:





Aren't they beautiful - and not only that, but they are printed not on paper but on either side of an old school folder, flattened and with the central clip removed.

Very proud mother.

 

Two bulls, three pianos

On display for just one month at Te Papa is Michael Parekowhai's amazing installation titled On first looking into Chapman's Homer.

It's hard to describe in a way that does it justice, but it is breath-taking. Here's an attempt: it's a genuine Steinway grand piano, astonishingly red and intricately carved all over including the lid, flanked by two bronze pianos on top of which  are two incredibly life-like and life-size bulls, one standing and pawing the ground, one sitting.



Just after I arrived, two men wandered into the gallery. I don't think they were expecting to see it, because they looked surprised, then confused, then even more surprised and more confused. One of themn sidled over to the gallery attendant and asked, "What does this piece of art mean?" She replied with great aplomb, 'What does any piece of art mean?"



I'd read Mark Amery's review in the Dominion Post which really helped me relate to this work, especailly the references to the river and the landforms as viewed from the the water.

People can book a time to come and play the grand piano. When I was there, a man arrived, sat down and started to play Tom Lehrer's song "The elements", listing all the elements of the periodic table (at least as known in 1959, up to no 102), which made it seem even more surreal.

He also played another Tom Lehrer tune: 'Poisoning pigeons in the park'!

But there are also concerts on every day at 12.30 and it's on display until the 23rd - only a few more days now!

 

White chairs on a green lawn

Installation art can sometimes seem like a challenge to understand (or appreciate), but this is one of the most poignant and powerful examples I've seen in a long while:



The chairs are placed on the lawn where Oxford Terrace Baptist Church, that grand old structure, once stood - each chair individually painted, each representing one person who died in the February 2011 Christchurch earthquake. I'm glad that people have treated it with respect, but have also incorporated it into their lives, using it as a place to sit, talk and remember.