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How the Light Gets In
blog by SHUTTA CRUM listed in categories: Writer's Life

“Ring the bells that still can ring.

Forget your perfect offering.

There is a crack, a crack in everything.

That’s how the light gets in.”

Leonard Cohen, from “Anthem.”

I’ve been a fan of Leonard Cohen’s for years. He is one of North America’s (Canada’s) treasured poets/singer-songwriters—truly, another wonder of the world. All you have to do is read/listen to the lyrics of his song, Hallelujah, to realize this. (I recommend the version by k.d. lang on her album, “Hymns of the 49th Parallel.”)

And since this is National Poetry Month here in the U.S., I thought I’d write a bit about the thought he expressed in the above lyric from his song, Anthem. It seems to me to be a fitting anthem for living one’s life—take joy in what is and don’t worry about the cracks. In fact, the cracks are necessary. A Zen-like thought from Cohen, the Zen Buddhist—but also revelatory if looked at from the perspective of Cohen, the writer, searching for the bon mot.

When does one call a halt to the seeking of the perfect word? When does the writer say, “it’s not perfect, but it will have to do?” A difficult question for most poets and for writers of children’s picture books, as each word in a poem or picture books needs to do a lot of work. Each word needs to be considered, read-aloud for its musicality and weighed against the other few words. Cut it, or not? Is the piece finished, yet? Truly, it can be maddening!

Take, for example, this quote from Oscar Wilde: “I was working on the proof of one of my poems all the morning, and took out a comma. In the afternoon I put it back again.” This is classic tongue-in-cheek Wilde, but still . . . we writers have been known to do just that. I’ve been known to put in and take out a word repeatedly. Some days it may sound right, other days, not. And in the case of picture books, when working with only 300 words . . . which are the right 300? (*See, below, a picture of me resorting to cutting up a manuscript and trying, somehow, to make it all fit together again.)

Assuredly, our agents and editors want us to find that bon mot . . . to get our manuscripts polished and as close to perfection as we can. In fact, this desire to have a “perfect offering” can trip us up—to the point of writer’s block, to the point of taking years to finish, to the point of getting mired in research, and even to the point of never starting. The truth of the matter is, often what we imagine in our minds can never be completely realized, can never be perfected.

OK. That’s a place to start. If we can accept that perfection is darn near impossible to achieve some of the stress is lessened right away. (I bet many of the writers we place on the highest pedestals might argue with the so-called perfection of their work. I bet most secretly wish they could tweak their texts a little, years after a piece has made its debut.) Now, let’s see if I can make it even less stressful . . .

The above makes perfect sense, because Perfection with a capital “P” is—much like Beauty—in the eye of the beholder. So what may seem an imperfect offering to me may seem a perfect one to you. Isn’t that liberating? What it comes down to is that there is no such thing as perfection. So why worry about it?

Whew! Doesn’t it feel like you just loosened your belt a few notches. Relief.

Does this mean we shouldn’t try to polish to perfection? Of course not. All our readers—and especially children—deserve the best we can write. But realize that writers are mortal. Our bodies age with the passing of days. We need to revise, search for the bon mot . . . get it as close as we can, within a reasonable amount of time. Then we should let fresh eyes help us—our critique partners, our agents and our editors. It is often a person at a little remove from the creating who can more easily say, “It’s done.” That little bit of distance, makes it easier to see the turnings of a truly fine piece of work, and does not magnify the insignificant rough patches.

My mother, a master quilter, once told me that a bit of imperfection is simply the beauty of “craft” in handicraft shining through. So when I work at my wordcraft, I take her at her word . . . after all, she’s my mother.

I leave you with these lines, again, from Leonard Cohen. Perhaps they will be of some help when you are stuck. Take joy in what you can offer. Don’t worry about the cracks; bask in the light. And happy Poetry Month!

“Ring the bells that still can ring.

Forget your perfect offering.

There is a crack, a crack in everything.

That’s how the light gets in.”

Leonard Cohen, from “Anthem.”

Ciao!

Shutta

Posted in April, 2008