Previously Published in TWUC (The
Writers' Union of Canada)
Newsletter
We all have them in our psyches, competing for space. Sometimes
the devils are in charge—say, at 3 a.m., in that dark night of the soul.
At other times the angels take over and guide us through hours and hours
of the most difficult work. With the angels on our side, all is brightness
and certainty and unending accomplishment.
Artists are unusually familiar with these twin companions, because we have
signed on to explore strong emotions and to plumb for truths, whether pleasant
or not. We know that their contrasting presence – light and darkness, good
and evil – create energy and inform our work with breadth and completeness.
Artists are famous for their devils. It's why we like to read their biographies:
to find out what's behind their creative impulse.
I am, of course speaking of professional artists, whose main purpose in life
is to do The Work, and who will use any material -- good or bad –- to do it.
It is a hallmark of amateurs that they don't commit or take risks, for fear
that a Grendel might leap out of the subconscious swamp and take over their
life. So they play it safe — seeking to stay both calm and creative — an oxymoronic
combo, if ever there were one. Keep sweet and for god's sake, stay out of the
basement. Fear of devils in fact more or less defines the amateur. Some pros,
of course, also play it safe. I assume that you, my reader, are not among
them.
There are no short cuts to feeling authentically, and it is impossible to be
an engaged writer while being emotionally dishonest within. The work is sure
to suffer. Writers seek to know how they honestly feel, not how they ought
to or should feel. They prefer to understand how emotions actually work inside
themselves and to depict these truths in their writing. Courage to pursue an
unflinching examination of the emotional landscape within is an entrance requirement
of serious writing. It can also make a writer's life difficult and lonely at
times.
But while most of us know that we need to have some devils in order to create,
it might be worthwhile to point out a seductive trap: the fashionable belief
that a real artist must be a suffering artist. This can result in the sort
of artists who cultivate a stricken, afflicted and, well, possessed personality.
We all know the bad boy or bad girl who excels in emotionality rather than
authentic expression of feeling. The devil's toy box of excitement- psychotropics
and the rest, not to mention tortured love affairs and other kinds of personal
chaos, can certainly drum up emotion in the flattest psyche— at least temporarily.
But ultimately, these toys tend to require more and more maintenance in return
for diminishing returns and can bring a cornucopia of brand new problems which
distract from, rather than contribute to, a productive writing life. In a
word, if devils and angels are in your tool kit, they have to be genuine.
You can't fake it.
Some writers are passionate explorers of their own psyches. Currently, within
the intellectual writing community in London, England, psychoanalysis is (once
again) the rage, practically a requirement for entry into their circle. Conversely,
other writers fear therapy and the deep work it can sometimes entail for fear
they'll throw out their angels with their devils. They believe that all their
entities are useful, maybe even essential to their creative lives. It's folly,
they suspect, to stop and figure out which ones might not be, for fear the
investigation might jinx their work.
But while it is generally agreed that artists need their devils, it should
be noted that all devils are not the same. Some are useful, and a struggle
with them can throw off creative sparks, while others are merely destructive
and serve no artistic purpose. One such is the Devil of Defeatism. A voice
hissing 'You'lll never amount to anything,' or 'You don't deserve success'
rarely inspires productive work. And the Happiness-Deflating Devils who
make withering comparisons between self and others, nurse jealousies and resentments,
petty rivalries and so on are not usually rocket fuel for the writer's soul. These
particular devils have probably tagged along from childhood, born of wounds
inflicted by parents, siblings, teachers and other authorities. The Impostor
Devil tries to convince you that you are a fake ("If your readers really
knew who you are they would despise you!") when all you have done is strive
to reinvent yourself and your work, to become a bigger and better artist. On
the other hand, the Overconfidence Devil covers your eyes and ears, hampering
your quest for improvement.
How do you tell the difference between useless and useful devils, especially
since the useless ones can be so persuasive in their arguments? It's pretty
simple. Useful devils (angels in disguise) are any which connect you to the
subject of your work itself. A childhood wound can be transformed into a powerfully
insightful drama. Unfinished emotional business can provide the architecture
of a novel. A repressed yearning for love unfulfilled can be channeled into
an opera. Anxiety and unbearable pain are the meat and potatoes of divine comedy.
But if a devil stops you from working and robs you of the courage to go where
you need to go, then it's likely the useless sort and needs banishing. For
example, while melancholy can be useful, crippling depression is not.
So here's a test. Just ask yourself: if you could take a magic pill and banish
a particular devil forever, would your creative life be better or worse? You
might find that you need that devil, at least until the novel's finished.
As for the useless kind, there are no magic pills and no short cuts to banishing
them. Therapy isn't for everyone but it can help distinguish which devil is
which and clear the room of the ones getting in the way of your work.
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