All of my formal writing classes have happened during the summer. At Keene I did the 2005 Writing Conference, and this past summer I participated in the National Writing Project’s summer institute. My music training, however, has spanned seasons.
I chose breadth over depth in learning instruments, which sated my generalist appetite but left me frustrated that I don’t have an artistic medium in which I feel effective. Over the past year I’ve decided to focus mainly on writing. So far it hasn’t amounted to much, but I will work diligently.
Yet when I try to transpose some of my music studies to writing, I’m at a loss. Mainly, there’s no equivalent in literature to a musical etude. I can’t “practice” a piece for thirty minutes each day. It’s a constant work of composition. There’s no Chopin to help me master the black keys in writing.
My piano instructor at Keene, whom I had for only a semester, told me that I was a good example of how much one can improve with consistent practice. I would go into the piano room each day and work on a section for a half an hour. By the end of the semester I could play the whole piece by memory.
When I mentioned this incompatibility to a good friend, he suggested that the closest equivalent of a “writing etude” is in typography. But that doesn’t do it for me. I want something that is versatile, fitting different techniques and abilities in performing writing, just as an etude does for the musician.
Maybe the writing equivalent of a musical etude is reading. The “performer” gives the text a voice, and makes an interpretation. Different styles and genres require different approaches and skills. Though does that mean the reader needs to then write, in response or imitation, to fully practice?
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2 comments:
The search for parallelism here is useful, although I think the problem is that your analogy from music to writing is fundamentally misdirected. You seem to be searching for an analogy between the act of writing and only one particular musical discipline: instrumental performance. It's clear, though, that the act of writing - of creating ideas, developing them, and revising the work into a cohesive whole - is akin to that of the composition of music, not its performance. And no, there are no "etudes" for composition like there are for instrumental performance, but there are tools: analysis and study of scores, composing works in different styles and instrumental genres. This is how composers build fluency and vocabulary, and it doesn't take much imagination to apply these ideas to the world of writing as well.
Looking at it from the other direction, I'd have to agree with you: the equivalent to an instrumental etude in the world of literature would be reading, and, more specifically, reading aloud. One could compose and practice a series of etudes to perfect the fluid speaking of various syllabic combinations, grammatical structures, punctuation marks; one could hone the ability to read, on sight and with emotive delicacy and clarity, works which he or she has not previously seen.
Correspondence and journalism, reading and conversing, quiet research and raucous entertainments are the etudes of writing. You can practice your craft in a very private way, as a self-reflective act of writing a diary, or in the volley of correspondence with a colleague or friend; as a reporter noting the 5 W's of a journalist, or as an anonymous copywriter on a staff. As Kevin says, you are confusing performance with composition
The point is to exercise your descriptive powers, come to know your cliches, and develop your style. Learning negative capability so that you can put your self totally in the characters, relationships and situations, letting them resolve and express themselves without forcing them, making it seem effortless and natural, as though poured from the fictional mouth of your subjects.
It is not quite like musical composition in that there are many pedestrian, everyday uses of writing that can help hone your craft. Knowing the sound of a particular bowing technique is not likely to come up in daily conversation at the supermarket, but amusing grammatical constructions or snappy dialogue may. Of course, in contrast, it is always nice to be able to whistle up a cadenza to accompany a comical exit.
Th-th-that's all, folks!
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