Finding one's voice
29/05/14 04:42
When I was 18 years old, I made a list of life goals. One of my goals was to become a published author. I imagined that I would publish multiple books during my lifetime, and I set the goal of having published a book by the age of 35. I am an avid reader and I like to write, so I thought that I could put those things together and come up with a book, maybe even one that someone else would like to read. I had written academic manuscripts that were nearly book length.
Of course there is more to publishing a book than coming up with a manuscript. And the publishing business has gone through an enormous change and is still in a time of great transition.
Over the years I have published in academic and professional journals and have contributed to several curricula projects and have managed to have my name listed as author in several different projects. Some of them even look like books.
The truth, however, is that whereas I think I have found my voice as a preacher, I am not so sure that I have found my voice as an author. I guess it would be fair to call myself an essayist. I write a lot of blog essays. And I am a decent contract writer. I can produce the right word count that stays on topic and meets the editor’s specifications. I meet deadlines and can produce the words that are needed for someone else’s project. But although I consider myself to be a competent storyteller, I have yet to produce much fiction that is worth reading.
And you can forget about my poetry. Billy Collins once said in an interview that everyone has a supply of bad poems. The trick is to get as many poems out as fast as possible so that one day you will run short of bad poems and begin to write good poems. I haven’t approached that state, yet. I can only produce bad poems.
Then again, one perfect poem would be sufficient for a lifetime, I think.
There are, however, poets who have produced many poems that stir the heart and make the reader think and plumb the deepest depths of human meaning.
Honestly, however, it can take time for a poet to find his or her voice.
Marguerite Annie Johnson had a really harsh childhood. Her parents split up when she was very young. She and her older brother, Bailey were sent to live with their father’s mother, Anne Henderson, in Stamps, Arkansas. With dark skin, she experienced firsthand racial prejudice and discrimination in the American south. During a visit with her mother, she was raped by her mother’s boyfriend. Then, her uncles killed the boyfriend. The trauma was so great that she stopped talking. She returned to Arkansas as a virtual mute and didn’t utter another word for five years.
She became pregnant after a short-lived high school romance and gave birth to a son.
She did not begin her adult life as a speaker, or even a writer. She earned a dance and acting scholarship to the California Labor School. Working to support herself and her son, she became the first black female cable car conductor in San Francisco.
She met and married a Greek sailor named Anastasios Angelopulos. It was by blending her childhood nickname and her new surname that she came up with the stage name that marked her career as a performer, a poet, and a public icon: Maya Angelou.
She found her voice:
“The caged bird sings
with a fearful trill
of things unknown
but longed for still”
Fifteen words that speak more deeply than thousands written by others.
“You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You matt kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I rise.”
Dancer, actor, singer, political activist, friend of Martin Luther King, Jr., author, playwright, poet, friend of presidents, university professor - there is a lot that she packed into one lifetime. As a reader, I owe a great deal to James Baldwin just for the words he wrote, but so much more for the simple fact that he encouraged Maya Angelou to write about her life experiences. Her 1969 memoir, “I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings,” may be one of the most influential books of late 20th Century America. She continued to write her own story with successive books: “Just Give Me a Cool Drink of Water ‘Fore I Die” (1971); “All God’s Children Need Traveling Shoes” (1986) and “A Song Flung Up to Heaven” (2002).
There have been more hard times in her life. She has known more than just the pain and trauma of her childhood years. Martin Luther King died on her birthday, April 4, 1968. She stopped celebrating her birthday for years.
But she didn’t lose her voice.
She sent flowers to King’s widow, Coretta Scott King, on that day for the rest of her life, more than 30 years.
When she returned to celebrating her birthday, she had become friends with Oprah Winfrey, who was able to put together some memorable occasions, including a week-long cruise for her 70th birthday.
She read the poem, “On the Pulse of Morning” at President Bill Clinton’s inauguration on January 20, 1993. President Barak Obama called her “a brilliant writer, a fierce friend, and a truly phenomenal woman.” He said she “had the ability to remind us that we are all God’s children; that we all have something to offer.”
And now her life has reached its conclusion and she has taken her place among the greats of the story of this great land. I received the news yesterday morning as I was arriving at the church to start another day. Her family’s statement said, in part: “Her family is extremely grateful that her ascension was not belabored by a loss of acuity or comprehension. She lived a life as a teacher, activist, artist and human being. She was a warrior for equality, tolerance and peace.”
Thank God she found her voice.
Of course there is more to publishing a book than coming up with a manuscript. And the publishing business has gone through an enormous change and is still in a time of great transition.
Over the years I have published in academic and professional journals and have contributed to several curricula projects and have managed to have my name listed as author in several different projects. Some of them even look like books.
The truth, however, is that whereas I think I have found my voice as a preacher, I am not so sure that I have found my voice as an author. I guess it would be fair to call myself an essayist. I write a lot of blog essays. And I am a decent contract writer. I can produce the right word count that stays on topic and meets the editor’s specifications. I meet deadlines and can produce the words that are needed for someone else’s project. But although I consider myself to be a competent storyteller, I have yet to produce much fiction that is worth reading.
And you can forget about my poetry. Billy Collins once said in an interview that everyone has a supply of bad poems. The trick is to get as many poems out as fast as possible so that one day you will run short of bad poems and begin to write good poems. I haven’t approached that state, yet. I can only produce bad poems.
Then again, one perfect poem would be sufficient for a lifetime, I think.
There are, however, poets who have produced many poems that stir the heart and make the reader think and plumb the deepest depths of human meaning.
Honestly, however, it can take time for a poet to find his or her voice.
Marguerite Annie Johnson had a really harsh childhood. Her parents split up when she was very young. She and her older brother, Bailey were sent to live with their father’s mother, Anne Henderson, in Stamps, Arkansas. With dark skin, she experienced firsthand racial prejudice and discrimination in the American south. During a visit with her mother, she was raped by her mother’s boyfriend. Then, her uncles killed the boyfriend. The trauma was so great that she stopped talking. She returned to Arkansas as a virtual mute and didn’t utter another word for five years.
She became pregnant after a short-lived high school romance and gave birth to a son.
She did not begin her adult life as a speaker, or even a writer. She earned a dance and acting scholarship to the California Labor School. Working to support herself and her son, she became the first black female cable car conductor in San Francisco.
She met and married a Greek sailor named Anastasios Angelopulos. It was by blending her childhood nickname and her new surname that she came up with the stage name that marked her career as a performer, a poet, and a public icon: Maya Angelou.
She found her voice:
“The caged bird sings
with a fearful trill
of things unknown
but longed for still”
Fifteen words that speak more deeply than thousands written by others.
“You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You matt kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I rise.”
Dancer, actor, singer, political activist, friend of Martin Luther King, Jr., author, playwright, poet, friend of presidents, university professor - there is a lot that she packed into one lifetime. As a reader, I owe a great deal to James Baldwin just for the words he wrote, but so much more for the simple fact that he encouraged Maya Angelou to write about her life experiences. Her 1969 memoir, “I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings,” may be one of the most influential books of late 20th Century America. She continued to write her own story with successive books: “Just Give Me a Cool Drink of Water ‘Fore I Die” (1971); “All God’s Children Need Traveling Shoes” (1986) and “A Song Flung Up to Heaven” (2002).
There have been more hard times in her life. She has known more than just the pain and trauma of her childhood years. Martin Luther King died on her birthday, April 4, 1968. She stopped celebrating her birthday for years.
But she didn’t lose her voice.
She sent flowers to King’s widow, Coretta Scott King, on that day for the rest of her life, more than 30 years.
When she returned to celebrating her birthday, she had become friends with Oprah Winfrey, who was able to put together some memorable occasions, including a week-long cruise for her 70th birthday.
She read the poem, “On the Pulse of Morning” at President Bill Clinton’s inauguration on January 20, 1993. President Barak Obama called her “a brilliant writer, a fierce friend, and a truly phenomenal woman.” He said she “had the ability to remind us that we are all God’s children; that we all have something to offer.”
And now her life has reached its conclusion and she has taken her place among the greats of the story of this great land. I received the news yesterday morning as I was arriving at the church to start another day. Her family’s statement said, in part: “Her family is extremely grateful that her ascension was not belabored by a loss of acuity or comprehension. She lived a life as a teacher, activist, artist and human being. She was a warrior for equality, tolerance and peace.”
Thank God she found her voice.