Uncovering Stories

Coming across things you have written in the past can be an interesting experience, a little Krapp's Last Tapes, a little bit like a message from a foreign land.

It's interesting, what leads us to stories. Where we are from and who we meet along the way in life come to bear on it, in my case anyway.

My late uncle, Dr Finlay Macleod, was a writer. I can only write about him for a little while as it is too difficult.

When I was young I came across a cupboard full of one of his books - 'Na Balaich air Rònaidh'. they were white, bold typography, the text was a very strong black. I've never smoked, but I opened a packet of cigarettes once and they were so perfect, such lovely paper. They were attractive. It was a little bit like that, seeing these books. And I thought, I'd like to have a cupboard of books myself.

I don't think that was my origin story as a writer. It was interesting, during a workshop with German theatre director Thomas Ostermeier, he asked everyone the question - why did they start writing? Everyone had a different answer, His was that he wanted to to explore things which were taboo. I can't remember what answer I gave and I would need to think hard about what it would now be. I just feel a pressure to write which builds up and needs slaking.

Growing up, experiencing life a little like Iain Chrichton Smith's character Murdo, it's probably natural when two languages and identities try and co-exist inside one head, to find some kind of way of making sense of it.

I worked with an animator once and he made sense of the world through drawings. I looked at our notes at the end of one day. His were all pictures and mine were all words. I guess it is completely natural - it's something that Howard Gardner explored in his book Multiple Intelligences. How we express ourselves is tied to the preferences of the mind as to how it makes sense of the data it receives regarding the world.

Anyway, what feels natural to me is writing and no doubt you have your own preferred way of expression. Hilary Mantel said the following :

There are plenty of books that tell you how to become a writer, but not one that suggests how, if you want a normal life, you might reverse the process.

Yes, quite.

In 2011, I went on a trip to North Rona with Cape Farewell. The organisation, led by David Buckland, create art in response to climate change. The yacht I went to Rona on (for there can be only one island called Rona - Rònaidh - for me), was full of artists and scientists.

I wrote a short piece about it called Shelter, which is on the Cape Farewell website. One of Krapp's last tapes.

The piece feels like notes from someone who doesn't know how dig where they stand.

There is so much I don’t know. I am a concrete example of cultural erosion. I know less about myself and the place than the people that came before me. I trust too much that knowledge stored in someone else’s books is good enough – but it isn’t when brought to this human scale. Travelling on a boat, talking to people, it should be on the tongue.

This has changed recently, deepening over the last few years. Maybe age has caused it. Maybe it is discovering that the place I am lucky enough to come from has many lifetimes of things to discover. Things which weren't mentioned in school - apart from in passing, swift passing. I am doing a part time MSc in Material Culture, led by two incredible academics - Prof. Hugh Cheape and Dr. Dòmhnall Uilleam Stiùbhart. I write about it in my other blog - www.gaelic.blog. It's a beginning.

Through this work, I learn about hidden stories. Some of them are difficult to bear and cause an emotional reaction. Different emotions which are hard to unpack.

One thing I wasn't prepared for, was the heavy lifting required when discovering difficult stories to which you feel a connection. I talked to Māori writer Tihini Grant about it and he said that the way that a writer can cope with the "deeply saddening burden" is :

...to sing the songs of our ancestors in a way that resonates on a very human level with the rest of the world. For them to see the truth of our past we must embed that depth of that emotion into the work so it speaks to the world from an undeniable place.In order to be able to give the work that depth we have to feel deeply.

I will give you an example which is writing about the Iolaire Disaster which happened on the Isle of Lewis, New Year's Eve in 1918. Servicemen were returning home from the Great War. The ship took the wrong course and ran aground on the Beasts of Holm, outside Stornoway harbour. 201 men were killed. Coming from the island where it happened, writing about the Iolaire Disaster is deeply affecting,

So there is this other interesting emotional component to being a writer, alongside the practical requirements of the work. About the emotional aspect of writing. At times, if it's an emotional scene, I cry whilst writing it. I guess there's a cathartic element to writing, thank goodness.

I think one regret I have is that I was so busy working over the years, that I didn't gather enough evidence. I should have always kept a reflective journal, so better to help me make sense of things. Where was I coming from and where was I going. Because it isn't a straight line. For a long time, I went out into the world rather than digging where I stand. Maybe this is natural.

Maybe the meandering nature of finding your voice, finding where you dig and the best way to do it, is something which takes the time it takes. And the more you dig, the more unique your voice can be.

I love the first section of linguist David Adger's new book Language Unlimited, where he talks about the uniqueness of voice. (That's how I have framed it, anyway.) He ran an experiment, typing sentences into Google to see how many times someone else had used them, He found that most of his sentences were unique. The book goes on to discuss the "infinitely creative power of language."

And so what is the takeaway. I think that it is that everyone's voice is more unique than we know. And that all these experiences go towards that. And also, that a reflective journal of some kind is worth a lot. (I talk about how to start a blog in this post.) It can be private, of course. Or under a different name. It can be whatever you want it to be. But I think the more you can gather these elemental pieces together, the more they will help make sense of the past map of your writing.

And also forgiving your younger self for missing things, taking detours, not understanding is also ok.

Resources

Cape Farewell

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Language Unlimited by David Adger.

Multiple Intelligences by Howard Gardner