Tuesday, April 17, 2012

Turning Abstract to Concrete

For my Capstone reading, I’ve been working through Love Medicine by Louise Erdrich, a collection of short stories about a Native American family and all their dysfunctions. One story that caught me today though was a section on a short scene without much dialogue and a lot of space for abstraction. However, I was pleasantly surprised when I read a section where a woman is looking at her adopted daughter, trying to understand what she is thinking:

I turned her head toward me and looked in her sorrowful black eyes. I look a long time, as if I was falling down a hill. She blinked gravely and returned my stare. There was a sadness I couldn't touch there. It was a hurt place, it was deep, it was with her all the time like a broke rib that stabbed when she breathed.

I love how she combines thoughts with tangible feelings. I know what it feels like to tumble down hills, where gravity doesn't seem to make up his mind. And while I've never had a broken rib, I can still imagine what it might feel like to have a sharp sticking sensation in my side (I have had side-aches from running... think they're similar?). Just saying that the child is sad, particularly on certain subjects doesn't cover it for me.

It even happens when I'm talking with people in real life. When trying to describe how they feel, all they can say is that they're "sick of talking about it," for instance. Whenever I try that one on my mom, she thinks it means that I'm just not in the mood to discuss something, or I'm too lazy to come up with a resolution at the moment. I remember once telling her about my physical reactions (stomach- and head-ache) to a problem I was having, and she was better able to understand how I really was doing.

I think in writing too, I feel disconnected with them if I am told how they are feeling and don't receive physical side-effects. I know that I react to certain emotions or situations in ways that are palpable, and if I don't see that in writing, I can't get inside the character either. One thing that Erdrich does very well all throughout her stories is to include so much concrete, touchable detail that the reader can live and breathe the character, not just stare at them in vague terms.



Do you all tend to write more from an abstract stance or a concrete one? Especially in personal essay and such, I push into abstraction. What do you do to make sure you are including more than musing to make the world come alive in your writing? Do your feelings have textures?

6 comments:

  1. It's amazing how small, tangible details can make the intangible come to life. One of the things I think concrete details can do is make what may otherwise appear overdramatic or sentimental into something that is so raw and true that it really grips the readers. I'm not quite sure why it is, and maybe it's just me, but I tend to "feel" something more if it's attached to something concrete.

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  2. I've been finding more and more instances where writers have found concrete ways to express abstract notions, and it helps so much. I really liked the example you gave--I felt like I was much more present to the scene than if the author had simply told me in vague, "the girl was sad" style. And I think physical symptoms are some of the strongest things to add to get that concreteness. This is something I've been working toward in my writing this semester, and often it's harder than it looks. But it's a great skill to develop, and I'm glad someone else is finding the specifics!

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  3. The description of feeling is sometimes difficult to clearly portray. The example you gave was clearly easy to relate with. Anyone can imagine broken ribs in comparison to a hurting soul, and so it a great comparison. In my writing I make connections that make complete sense to me but to most others it is far too abstract. I think the important thing to do is show your writing to someone and say, "Does this make sense?" "Could you relate with this?" I try to feel along with my character so the story has some sort of authenticity rather than just flat monologue.

    Thanks for the post, it will help my approach to my essays!

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  4. I often feel my deepest emotions as a physical throbbing--longing, pain, loneliness, and others all feel like an ache in my chest that spreads tangibly into my fingers. Other times, emotional states are reflected by physical sensations, as in the sick feeling you saw me get at the conference on Friday even though nothing was wrong with me! I know well what emotions and what feelings go together, yet I never thought of writing about them to make my characters seem more tangible, more believable. Thanks for posting this; this idea of adding the physical side of emotion to writing is a new one that I probably need to use and can't wait to play with. :)

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  5. I love this post so much because it hits on something I really struggle with in my writing. I think I'm *slightly* better at portraying feelings in a tangible way in my personal essays because I remember what it felt like to go through a certain experience, and I almost can't help but keep that out of the narrative. But in fiction, everything becomes vague and abstract because I'm not getting close enough to my characters. Instead of empathizing with them, I find myself watching them from afar; I don't feel the tangible things they do (or if I do, they come across in cliches). The excerpt you posted has really inspired me to work on that aspect of my characterization some more!

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  6. I use abstractions AND particulars, but I'm not very consistent with either one. For longer prose pieces, I think I can get a lot more grounded sometimes and describe what my character is seeing or experiencing. But with my poetry, it tends to be a lot more vague. I was interested in your discussion of physical side effects related to feelings. Feelings can tend to be a lot more abstract. People feel sad or depressed or excited or happy, but what does that mean? Is it just a word, or is there a feeling of elation or sinking related to it? And what does the body do? Because the body does respond to how we're feeling. So I liked that you brought that up.

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