writing and translucency

In my acting program, we learned some basic moves on the trapeze. Flying was fun, but as we swung through the air, I wondered "Why are we doing this? Because it looks cool? How does this help our acting? "

One of the more blunt class members voiced this question to our (famous) instructor, who, in characteristic fashion, stared over our heads with parted lips, and smiled as if greeting a ghost.

He then whispered a word through clenched teeth: "Translucency."

Translucency, he went on to explain, is the ability to let go of the "process" behind the work, and to live honestly in the moment. In trapeze work, translucency manifests itself as a graceful weightlessness. Nobody can see the effort behind your leaps, your twirls, the bend in your back. You are transcending your own work.

Obviously, translucency becomes easier with skill and strength, as you gain confidence in your body, your instrument. You can be honest, spontaneous and messy in the moment without strain, over-thinking, self-analysis. Because, really – who wants to see someone thinking about their next move? You want to see the music take over: the dancer is propelled by the cello's tender growl. The lover is driven, not by the list of things she "wants in a man," but by the cracking open of her chest.

Lately, I have been thinking about how the concept of translucency, or rather practice of translucency -- it isn't just an idea, that's the point -- applies to writing. I have been thinking about this because I often edit my writing into oblivion. My voice loses its freshness and immediacy. I kill my own writing by trying too hard.

This isn't unique to me. I used to see this "trying too hard" in others' stories and essays when I worked in the writing center. I would ask the students to tell me about what they wanted to communicate, and they would verbally express clear, engaging ideas. On the paper, however, their thoughts were convoluted. Their effort had obfuscated their work, rather than strengthened it.

So now, I ask myself, where is my work most beautiful and clear? Well, this week, I reread some of my old journals, and I found lyrical, but effortless, writing – in other words, translucent work. And it just sort of comes out like that. Beauty in trying less.

By contrast, whenever I try to write anything longer or more "serious," I stumble and trip. My work becomes thought out instead of felt. So today, I am wondering how to work hard at writing, but eventually move beyond the struggle. I want my sentences to float buoyantly, gently, as if on currents of air, as if I'd only just caught them with a butterfly net.
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