Discovering David

When Michelangelo was asked how he managed to manipulate blocks of stone into the stunning statues and figures that made him famous, he replied that he saw the angel in the marble and carved until he set him free. While this story may or may not be true, it certainly does an apt job at describing my vision of the creative process. I sense, like Michelangelo, that somewhere out there is an ideal end result of my labor. It may be a three-dimensional object of stone or a multidimensional paper on the astro-religions of canines. Whatever the topic may be, somewhere in the recesses of my mind is the most perfect paper that my mind can produce. Writing is the physical labor required to carve through the language spilling from my head to discover my own David. Powered by the faith that he is there, I select the from the tools already fitted to my hand to uncover the masterpiece in the stone.

My writing process usually starts with some sort of prompt. It may be an assignment given by a professor or an idea I want to develop more clearly. Some of my writing is intended to build or strengthen relationships with distant family or friends. Some is a desire to record a valued experience for future reference. Whatever the prompt, it will be the heart of the project. I write for that specific purpose and only a product that addresses that prompt can be successful. With the prompt in my head the ideas wax and wane for several days. In my idle moments my thoughts dwell on it, connecting it to other events and thoughts, pondering alternative interpretations or unique ways to understand it. My mental statue grows and develops as I learn more of his strengths and weaknesses, refining his stature and poise. Once the idea has reached a size where I can no longer remember all the thoughts I’ve connected to it, I know it is time to approach the stone.

Now comes the blank page, be it paper or computer screen. I put my prompt down first so it is always near at hand for consultation as I unleash my anxious chisel. Next I jot down the major points or topics I wish to include. This list of five or six things becomes backbone of my emerging David. If there is a quote or a story I wish to use it will also be copied onto the list. I arrange the various parts of my statue into a logical order, which may well be different each time. Maybe I’ll start from the fingers and toes and work my way in. Maybe it will be an alphabetical journey from arm to bone to ear. Maybe it will be organized chronologically in the order he received his battle scars. This organization feeds my introduction.

I have discovered writing requires an interesting beginning. If I am not interested within the first page I am not likely to read or write the entire document. After a few days of pondering on the topic and with my major points already organized in some fashion, I can usually come up with a title and an opening paragraph that accounts for the prompt, initiates the organization and more importantly that makes me excited to see what the rest of my paper will say. Sometimes it will be a story that expresses the idea. Sometimes it is an analogy that I find unique and thought provoking. Other times it may just be a clever combination of words that hides various layers of meanings. Whatever the initiator of the paper is, it will create a context or a setting whereon the various aspects of the paper will be displayed before the reader. This first thought, be it the title or something in the opening paragraph, will blend with my initial prompt to become my guide to discovering David.

In connection with this creation of a first page, I jot down my name and whatever other data is required to cite the paper. By having the first inch or two of my paper already in a finished state I avoid the problem of staring at a blank page with nowhere to begin. My document has already begun. I will often save the document at this point and depending on time or deadlines it will sit there, outlined, titled, but unwritten for some time. I return to life while my inner self inspects the skeleton of the statue to decide if it will produce something I can live with. In this second prewriting stage the outline of David is visible in the marble and I must decide if it is worthy to emerge from the stone. I will ponder my potential creation in the various contexts of life to make sure he is real, proportioned correctly and has a pleasant personality. Sometimes I’ll discuss the ideas at the heart of the project with friends or strangers to make sure they are interesting and coherent outside my own head. Once I am comfortable with the basic form I return to the paper and begin to write.

I turn to my outline and each point becomes a paragraph. As I chain together the thoughts and sentences sometimes they divide into more paragraphs. Elaboration on one idea will spurn additional details and another related idea. Researching, when required, will often produce other questions that require addressing (just how many tendons are in a bicep?). Gradually the bullets and quotes and prompts that once cluttered the page are replaced by even, organized text. When I reach the end of my outline I return to the beginning. Now I can see in rough unpolished grandeur the complete form of David. I pluck my golden thread of thought to make sure every paragraph is firmly attached and relevant. Any part that doesn’t shimmer is marked for inspection and possible alteration. I cap off the paper with a conclusion that reminds the reader of the original block of stone, summarizes the parts that fell away and shows clearly the towering hero that has resulted. With introduction and conclusion like bookends around my David, writing turns into revision.

I return to my original prompt. Is David as tall as my patron requested? Did I appropriately incorporate the image of his son in the face of the marble? Do I feel like my work is unique enough to stand with the company it will encounter? I find myself sanding a fingernail here or there, maybe emphasizing the sword at his side. Perhaps I decide he needs a dog to run next to him. The work is polished and buffed until the patron comes in and demands that I finish. The wagons come and David leaves my studio to stand alone on whatever feet my efforts have crafted for him. Blank page and jumbled thoughts thus yield their captive to the awaiting world.