George S. Kaufman defined the well-made play (or story): a cat got into a tree; the cat cannot get out of the tree; everybody in town tries to get the cat out of the tree; finally, the cat gets out of the tree. Simple equation: conflict drives the story. Conflict is the absence of euphoria but the root of action. Conflict (a form of pain) must be present to tell a good story. So, pain drives the story and, by association, pain drives the writer. A writer, in my opinion, does not need to actually feel the pain, imagined or real, to write but hopefully understands where the words, characters, thoughts, creations, are coming from.

Pain (in its emotional form) stems from need, lack, desire to create something good, bad, wonderful, the best. Have any of our bloggers above felt desire for someone so much that you developed a little pain/euphoria (emotional, physical or mental) every time you see or hear their name? And that name could be any one of a thousand characters you have created, right? In this case, pain is ecstasy for the process of developing the characters. If the characters are absent pain, then they are generally not very interesting characters.

I think writer’s write because they have something to say…and if they don’t say it, they will feel uncomfortable. I’m not talking about pain from a cut, pain from a stubbed toe, pain from a lost letter: I’m talking about the pain of loss, the pain of success, the pain of letting go, the pain of not succeeding, the pain associated with fulfillment….yes, even feeling fulfilled can be full of pain.

Pain is an important part of animal life, vital to healthy survival. In his book, The Greatest Show on Earth, biologist Richard Dawkins grapples with the question of why pain has to be so very painful. He describes the alternative as a simple, mental raising of a “red flag”. To argue why that red flag might be insufficient, Dawkins explains that drives must compete with each other within living beings. The most fit creature would be the one whose pains are well balanced.

Writers write to find balance. Balance cannot be found unless one is out of balance, or in the process of finding stability. The stereotype of the writer tearing up pages, tearing out hair, drinking to excess, burning their books or sitting in their quiet place …that’s not what I believe Jane’s friend is driving at. Pain is the reason people buy things: they have a void and it needs to be filled, or they fill it by socializing, writing, dancing, partying…buying things.

But curiously, if you read the blog responses above again, most everyone is writing about some form of pain, or anxiety, or discomfort, or curiosity (which is a form of pain because it comes from not being satisfied with what one already knows)…it is not simple elation. Pain is an urge, and like all urges, it must be satisfied. Like writing.

Writing it down makes me feel a little more normal that my mind works this way.

There must be something in the air about this topic, because it is also addressed here: http://wp.me/p1llSZ-4r as well as in the other excellent articles cited above.

In my work I am part journalist, part archeologist, part psychologist, part manager, part empath. The process is the thing for me, and the actual writing is the icing on the cake.

People always say that writing is a solitary endeavor, but my writing life is intensely social, with the voices of my subjects chattering in my head, speaking to me on tape, and buzzing me at all hours to drop new pearls of insight like midnight gifts. Their passion inspires me. All they need are the right words.

The people I work with are often quite different from me, but I always look for the thread of commonality at the basic human level, and then tease it so that the voices can be translated, and perhaps enhanced, when I begin to write. There are lucky times when I feel as if we are joined in thought, although the experience is usually a lot messier. I like the messy times, too.

The idea of writing as therapy doesn’t really appeal to me, either as a producer or a consumer. I have given standing orders to my friends and family that if I ever write a novel about a writer struggling with his second novel then they’re to beat me to death and burn my computers.

I read to find out stuff, to learn, to see the world in new ways. And I suppose that means I write to teach, or at least to play with and pass on some of that information. But I’d resist the idea that all my reading or all my writing was some sort of educational exercise.