‘We live entirely […] by the imposition of a narrative line upon disparate images’. Joan Didion, as ever, has a point. Our moods, our identity and self-esteem, all depend on our constantly shifting responses to external stimuli, to the many micro-aggressions of the everyday. The news can make me feel sad or exhilarated, friends can make me feel empowered or emasculated. It depends on how I read them. It depends on my narrative line.
Yet what Didion actually writes – my coy ellipsis gives the game away – is that we live entirely, especially if we are writers, by the imposition of a narrative line. Prisoners of our perspectives, we are the editors of existence, giving rhythm and cadence, rise and fall, to the parameters of our life sentence. Perhaps we just need to think about life as though we were writing it.
Can we also think about writing as though we were livingof writing, not just to its product? All writers have to answer this in their own way, but for me it comes down to rhythm – to finding the rhythm of a text, as of life, and moving with it. The best way of not falling off a bucking bronco (I assume) is to buck with it.
