Writing During Turbulent Times

As a writer (or reader), are you looking for swords or plowshares?

[Reprinted from Women Writers, Women's Books]

We are living in turbulent times. It would be hard to argue that’s not the case. Violence is surging around the globe as well as on local streets. Decency, compassion, and our sense of security are under attack. Democracy is on life support. At least, this is how the current state of the world looks from my perspective.

As writers, we have power. But only if we claim it. I like to think that our act of writing can serve as a sword or a plowshare. Our words can be sharp, cutting to the core of a problem or fighting an injustice; we can also use our words to promote peace, celebrate life, and fashion a better world.

Traditionally, writers of nonfiction and of fiction have used their craft differently when responding—or not responding—to the zeitgeist. Many nonfiction writers are accustomed to doing their work in the midst of turmoil. It’s integral to their writing. Journalists and reporters can expect to be stationed on the front lines, to write literally while under fire. Nonfiction writers produce columns, essays, commentary, and the like as they sit back and try to make sense of current events.

Many fiction writers, on the other hand, feel the need to work as far away as possible from the fray. They may think they need to be in a place of peace to write about peace. Writers of romance or paranormal fiction or literary fiction or commercial fiction may see no connection between their creative worlds and the turmoil “out there.”

In fact, some novelists consider it their mission to write books that help people escape. And plenty of readers turn to books for the purpose of escape. Ironically, some books of so-called escapist fiction are arguably as or more violent than some nonfiction writing.

That irony came to light for me while writing my latest book, Shot: A Dictionary of the Lost. The idea for a collection of short stories about the epidemic of gun violence came to me after what was at that point the latest school shooting. I wanted to address what I saw as the need to make changes in our society that will save lives that would otherwise be senselessly lost. But I held off because I was worried no one would want to read a book that contained violence, written in the name of stopping violence.

My breakthrough came when I realized that, by using fiction rather than the stories of real victims, I could create a celebration of life while also raising readers’ consciousness by delivering the message “This can happen to anyone…even you.” Moreover, I could do so with stories that are less violent than your average TV drama.

I’m not an expert on gun violence prevention, nor am I even a survivor of gun violence. Yet, as someone who cares, I was able to find my voice and hopefully make a contribution through my writing.

Confronting my choices as a writer led me to recall what I learned over many years as a volunteer. After one election, I talked to various friends who hadn’t volunteered for the campaign they supported. I noticed that they seemed to feel even more helpless and devastated by the outcome than those of us who took the time to work on that election. Participation may not have changed the results but it had a powerful impact on the psyche.

Now I see that writing, much like volunteering, can be a form of civic engagement, especially during times of turbulence. It can help us feel less isolated, less impotent. Of course, the decision to participate, and how, is up to each writer. Here are some things to consider.

For starters, fiction can be a subversive tool for truth telling. Think Orwell’s 1984 or Atwood’s The Handmaid’s Tale. Through the use of metaphor or allegory, the fiction writer has greater freedom to tackle sensitive topics and to express controversial views. This can be especially relevant if you are critiquing an oppressive regime.

For example, my book of speculative fiction, The Die, deals with saving democracy in the face of dictatorship. I didn’t write it while living under a dictatorship. Today, I can’t say the same. I also can’t guarantee that my use of metaphor will keep my books off a banned list; however, writing fiction does grant me greater leeway to express myself.

Beyond its truth-telling power, fiction can help us reimagine the future when the present is falling apart. This can be through active world building or it can be through more subtle messaging. My goal in writing both The Die and Shot was for readers to come away feeling inspired, with a greater interest in and commitment to working for change.

Writing fiction can also test our emotional resilience and provide a form of mental refuge. I’m reminded of the advice Toni Morrison said a friend gave her when she was feeling despondent after an election: “This is precisely the time when artists go to work—not when everything is fine, but in times of dread.”

Those words ring true for me because they capture the fearlessness and sheer pluck of a true writer—of the kind of writer I aspire to be.

Times of turbulence present a unique challenge for writers. Whether you write for publication or journal for your own sanity, writing can be a survival tool during these times. It can be your sword or your plowshare—or a combination thereof.

My only hope is that you don’t choose to remain silent.