Finding the Right Excuse: Committing Words to Paper Because ...

Captain Charles E. Yeager, the Air Force pilot who was the first man to fly faster than the speed of sound, sits in the cockpit of the Bell X-1 supersonic research aircraft - Department of Defense. Department of the Air Force, 1948. Wikimedia Commons

By Joan L. Cannon

Just reading about Chuck Yeager’s autobiography brought to mind the number of autobiographies and/or memoirs out there (what’s the difference?) and reiterates the question of why one writes these things. If you've lived an adventurous, unique, dangerous, miserable or talented life — of course. If you've attracted the public eye, gained fame, naturally people want to know all they can find out about you. If you're the first to break the sound barrier, the best poet of your generation, the discoverer of antisepsis, of course what you've done will be interesting to strangers.

Then I think of those who feel such pressure to commit words to paper that they write with some kind of compulsion to readers they don't know. Why is it important to them to have strangers read their words? If someone else decides to commit their deeds to history, they don't have to worry about self-aggrandizement. The ones I wonder about with enormous sympathy are those who are compelled to write about themselves. (Recognize anyone?)

It's too simple to make the motivation sheer egoism; some other impetus must be there. Think of the poets and novelists and playwrights whose words sink into the consciousness of thousands and even millions and remain there, as emblems, guides, beacons of hope or warnings of disasters, and the excuse (as if one is needed) presents itself. Maybe there’s information or a revelation for some unknown viewer that you can provide, even if it's not earth-shaking. Besides, we all know more about ourselves than we do about anyone else.

I've lived a life that is unique in the sense that every single one, like every single snowflake, is singular, but without any outstanding characteristics. In spite of that, I want to talk about it.

Of course, the person with whom I always did speak of it is no longer available. It's a bit like losing part of your own hearing to lose the ear that could always be counted on to listen to what you had to say. Nothing in your own voice sounds acceptable after that. To your own ear or eye, every word is weakened by half, and I sense it would be reasonable to forget about it and try to write mystery thrillers or category romances. That way, I might even be able to make a few dollars.

And still, in spite of everything, there's pressure to let something loose that I might know that someone else has still to learn, or something I've noticed that someone else hasn't thought of, and that might tickle the imagination or stimulate the intellect or conjure a useful memory and make someone’s else's day a tiny bit brighter.

It's embarrassing to feel the itch forever to justify this impulse. The more years I get to feel it, though, the more insistent seems the impulse is for me to scratch it.

Thank you, Senior Women Web.

Editor's Note: Joan's list of some of her favorite biographies:

Wind, Sand, and Stars by Antoine de St.- Exupéry ;
This House of Dawn by Ivan Doig;
Mark C. Taylor’s Field Notes from Elsewhere

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Finding the Right Excuse: Committing Words to Paper Because ...

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