My colleagues and I would not be the first writers who write to dissipate pain. For example, D.H. Lawrence sat at his mother’s bedside and while she was dying, he wrote poems about her, and an early draft of Sons and Lovers, his novel which explored their complicated, loving, painful and close relationship. Marcel Proust wrote Remembrance of Things Past while sick in bed with asthma. Flannery O’Connor wrote some of her best stories while dying from lupus.
May Sarton and Anaïs Nin wrote in their diaries to pull them through difficult times. In her book, Recovering, May Sarton chronicles her battles with depression and cancer. Anaïs Nin used her journals to address her deranged father who left the family when she was young. Nin’s journal entries became a four-volume collection of published books.
James Pennebaker, the author of Writing to Heal says “Writing dissolves some of the barriers between you and others. If you write, it’s easier to communicate with others.” Pennebaker believes that there’s a certain type of writing which erupts when we’re faced with loss, death, abuse, depression and trauma. He does have one rule that he calls, “the flip out rule,” which proclaims that if you get too upset when writing, then it’s probably best to stop.
Whether affected by change, loss or pain, finding the time and courage to write can support the healing process. Some people prefer to write nonfiction, while others may choose fiction or poetic modalities to help them express their thoughts and feelings. Each writer must choose the genre most compatible with their stories, sensibilities and personalities, choosing what liberates and empowers them. In the end, this is what healing is all about.
A writer friend (thanks KB!) who is an avid reader of this blog, just forwarded me an article from the magazine section of the New York Times (March 23, 2012), called, “Why Talk Therapy is on the Wane and Writing Workshops Are on the Rise,” by Steve Almond. Coincidentally, I met Steve at AWP a number of years ago, where he was on a panel and I remember him not only because his talk was compelling, but because he stood at the side of the podium giving away copies of his newly-release book, an unusual gesture for writers. As the son of two therapists, he truly knows what he is talking about. In this article, he defends writing as a cure, particularly in this boom of memoir and biography and the idea, as he states, that “artists should be forged by the fires of ‘real life.’” Almond is teaching a workshop for those in their 50s and 60s (yes, my age group) and admits that it does not really matter whether they become published writers or not. The important thing is that the students “have found a way to face the toughest truths within themselves, to begin to make sense of them, and maybe even beauty. In a world that feels increasingly impersonal and atomized, I can’t think of a more thrilling mission,” he concludes.


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