Writing Our Ruins - by Liz Carter

It might be a bit of a cliche to say that difficult events in our life shape our writing, but they do.

We all write out of our own experiences, good and bad. Some of us keep our writing seperate and try not to share too much of ourselves, perhaps because we don't want the 'author voice' to be too evident in a fiction piece, or because we want to keep that part of ourselves private. And that's fine, of course.

But I wonder if something of us is embedded in all of our writing, whether lighthearted humour pieces or sci-fi novels. How far can we actually seperate us - who we are at our core - from our writing? How much of the ruins in our lives are reflected in our stories, poems and non-fiction pieces?

I'm probably an over-sharer, in the scheme of things. My first book (Catching Contentment, published November 2018) contained quite a lot of memoir, in the sense that it was written out of my own experience of a life in pain, and I wanted to get deeper than theoretical. And my experience is that people respond when we share something of ourselves, when we become a little bit transparent. Even great fiction books often seem great because of the glimpses of who the author is and what they have experienced. Their ruins and pain often bleed into the words, opening the words up even more. Do you think this is true?

Of course, it's the same for joy, too. The joyous times in life shape us and shape our words, and joyous words have the power to lift and heal. But I think there is something about the authenticity of shared pain which goes even deeper, somehow.

But it can be costly. It can be vulnerable, exposing, uncomfortable. We don't want the world to see into our souls or into our pasts. Yet when we do, it can bring great resonance to others which can lead to readers feeling as if they are seen, too. As if they are understood.

I'm writing out of a place of ruins today. I've been severely poorly since the weekend, with too much to do which can't be done because I can barely concentrate. I'm just about scraping these words out for today, so apologies for any incoherence. I've got another lung infection, yet again, and this one has hit me hard. It's been a painful one and I'm bruised and battered.

Yet God is next to me, and so many words I've read over the past week have been sustaining, reminding me of the great power we as writers have to upbuild (and tear down!) I'm so thankful for all of you, members of ACW, who write sharing starkly of your own difficulties, and who write yourselves into your books with humour, beauty and fluency. And honesty. Thank you.

Today I've been so struck by this image of the aftermath of the tragic fire at Notre-Dame last night, and felt compelled to write a few lines of poetry, so want to leave you with my words from the ruins today.

You shine in ruins
Your cross a never-changing symbol
Of a never-changing love
May the ruins come to life again
May the waste places shout for joy
And the desolate, long-forgotten places
Praise your name
May our ruins awaken
And find you there in the midst
A light that is never dimmed
A truth which streams through history
Shattering our devastation
Turning our ashes to beauty.