On Sharing Ourselves

I have had the opportunity to work with Ayse Papatya Bucak, professor at Florida Atlantic University, for a few years now. She patiently read and responded to my creative work as an undergrad (even through the terrible zombie-dystopian-Twilight-gothic years) and has encouraged me throughout my graduate studies (reminding me that I am on the right path, that I am not a failure at what I do). These are all things that keep me going and are very important to me—but what I think I’ve enjoyed most about working with this phenomenal instructor is how much of her writing process she is willing to share.

Professor Bucak’s debut collection, The Trojan War Museum and Other Stories was released into the world last week. I’ll have you know; she blew up on the internet. Every email shared, interview posted, and podcast linked littered my Facebook timeline, repeated throughout my Instagram stories. We (her FAU cohort) could not be any prouder or more excited. She premiered her collection at the lovely Books & Books in Miami. The room was full, the excitement palpable, and the appreciation for this wonderful writer abundant, ever-present against the backdrop of floor-to-ceiling walls of books; shelved stories not unlike our own. She read “Good Fortune” from her collection. Lines like, “Before: a nephew-stranger, a brother-replacement, an old beginning. After: still fear but less, still stone but less, still Gudrun but more,” read like magic, defined a main character (Gudrun) and played with sentence structure, which she is always reminding us (her students) to do. We leaned toward her, away from our seats. We listened. Not only did we get to dive into this story as a collective, delighted audience, but she also showed us her notebook, her scribbles. She shared the evolution of her sentences, her notes, her writerly mind. And me, a mere student, a mere fangirl, thought, I have notebooks like that too. I have sentences waiting to be evolved too. Of course, this reading wasn’t for me. This reading was for Papatya, to share herself and her hard work. But how wonderful it is, to find inspiration in others, to be a part of a lineage of hardworking artists who don’t mind sharing themselves.

I am in my third and final year at Florida Atlantic University’s graduate program in creative writing. As expected, I have made countless connections to the writing community, gained quite a few new friends, written a lot of words, had many a breakdown, worked my little writer-nerd’s self into the ground, and—most importantly—learned to share myself. In what other world do people have the opportunity to share their words, their art, their bones and trauma and joy so professionally and so completely? I think we can find circles who support us throughout this journey of life, but to find friends and mentors who openly share their process, their successes, and their advice so willingly and so supportively is truly unique. In my experience, Professor Bucak has always opened her door to students looking to create a world on paper. She remembers our names, our stories, and she helps us practice our craft, all while accomplishing feats in the sometimes-paralyzing but always fascinating publishing industry. Her collection of short stories is a pleasure to read, and an inspiration to those of us who look up to her as a writer. Her reading in such a local, bookish spot was a culmination of all the things the MFA at FAU represents; a community of supportive colleagues and writers witnessing the magic of a new book being articulated into the world by an author we love.

            Congratulations, Papatya. 

Emily White is a third-year MFA still attempting to complete the daunting task of finishing a story. She is a bit further along now, though.

There Should Be Voices in Your Head

I asked my characters why they speak to each other the way they do. They said,

“We don’t think about things before we say them.”

I erased a line of exposition from a previous paragraph and told my characters, but I think about everything before I write it down.

“Do you really though?”

I added a note to the margin of a previous page, she wouldn’t really react this way.

“She may not react that way, but she’s certainly thinking about it. We know, we asked her. She whispers instead of shouting when she’s upset and you have her there on that page yelling.”

I erased the line of dialogue and wrote, she whispered his name before she turned her back. She said, “I didn’t know.” As she walked, her dress brushed the floor, emptying the silence.

“Good, that’s good. But couldn’t it always be better?”

I put my hand to my forehead and resisted the urge to bang my temple against the page, so that the words would be imprinted on my cheek in pencil and I could show everyone how hard I’ve been working.

“Don’t think about the function. Think about the lyric. Listen for the music. Picture the sound in your mind, the sentence has to breathe like stars do, right before they fade.”

She whispered his name before she turned her back. She said, “You know I’m bad at conversation. I didn’t know you would be gone in three months.” As she walked, her dress brushed the floor, emptying the silence.

“Good enough,” they said.

--

I believe I read somewhere that dialogue should read like poetry. Characters do not always need to speak (to the same degree that some physical humans should not always speak). Therefore, when characters do talk, I make sure that their words have significant meaning in that they themselves are telling parts of their own story. Or, I make sure that their words benefit the exposition surrounding them, that the spoken words essentially sound ‘pretty’. At least this is what I try to do. Sometimes dialogue comes more naturally and therefore becomes something I have to cut repetitively in editing due to the fact that a lot of what people say is less important than what they do. I find this to be true for most of my characters as well.

With every line of dialogue I write, I try to pay attention to the line-by-line purpose. As an example, the characters above speak directly to me instead of speaking directly to my character. They are both demanding and specific. I, both as a writer and a character, do not always say anything back. Perhaps this is an exercise in getting purpose down onto the page without all of the excess, flowery language… perhaps I am simply hearing voices. Either way, dialogue, I think, can be a fun way to play with your characters. It can be a useful tool when addressing description, setting and atmosphere. For me personally, it's a really in-depth way to practice getting inside of my characters’ minds. This should make characters unique because no two characters are exactly the same, their voices should sound different as their minds work differently. Unless, of course, you are writing a story that involves two identical minds. In that case, I applaud your approach, question your sanity, and would like to read a copy.

I find that dialogue does not always have to serve a function. Instead, it brings the words on the page to life and sounds more like a rhythm, or lyric. It’s like that last piece to the puzzle, the outer edge or corner that only fits in a certain spot and deserves a lot of practice of placement. 

Emily White is a first-year MFA student currently trying to accomplish the daunting task of completing a story.