The Whale Belly

In Brooks and Warren’s Understanding Fiction — a great book for writers — they posit that most great writers have one or two themes that they explore in great depth over their lifetimes.

“A good writer does not offer us, for instance, a glittering variety of themes. He [sic] probably treats, over and over, those few themes that seem to him most important in his actual living and observation of life. For we can remember, too, that a good writer is not merely playing a game to amuse his readers or to make a living…. The good writer is trying in his personal way to find and to say something that he regards as true about life.” Brooks and Warren (1943), Understanding Fiction

For some time now, I’ve been attempting to pinpoint my own theme. And I’ve tended to focus on the issues that trouble me: car dependency culture, sterile educational systems, the neoliberal extraction of wealth from people merely trying to survive, and anti-intellectualism, among others. However, when I try to write about these topics, I quickly become overwhelmed. Or perhaps I just feel overly sad.

But during a recent run, I experienced what I believe to be an epiphany. Instead of solely concentrating on the negative aspects of life, maybe I should use them as indicators of what I genuinely care about. What kind of world and life do I envision without these obstacles? Somewhere in the answer to that question might lie my theme. Maybe something in the realm of humanity, harmony, goodness, or love. Of course, writing about this vision requires writing about what stands in its way, but at least it leaves room for hope of something better.