Assignment on writing and . . . grief

There are a couple of activities I find therapeutic when it comes to dealing with life's little detours and upsets. One is riding a motorcycle. I once read something somewhere about an observation that you never see a motorcycle in a psychiatrist's parking lot. It's true! And there's a very good reason for it that only those who ride understand. But living in the northeastern US, the weather is usually only warm enough for riding about 5 months out of the year. So what's a biker to do without their two-wheeled therapy for the rest of the year? This leads me to the other activity, more pertinent to this assignment: writing.

I find that my best writing comes when I write from the heart, and this not only applies too all the syrupy sweet stuff that pours forth when love's muse has inspired us, but even more so when tragedy strikes and we're forced to deal with the not-so-happy aspects of being human. Just as fiction requires conflict, writing about grief-inspiring issues tends to be more visceral and readers seem to identify with it easier, than say, a fluff piece about little Susie getting upset because she accidentally lost her homework. When the writing deals with more negative, base human experiences that all but the very young and/or lucky have experienced, the reader has a more vested interest in how the issue will be resolved. Call it morbid curiosity, but it's human nature. Why else do newspaper headlines focus on crisis instead of the upcoming Girlscout cookie sale season? People love tragedy, when it happens to someone else. And writers get to choose whether to bring their own experiences into their writing or objectively report another's experience.

I find the deeper I allow myself to bleed onto the page, the more deeply the reader will identify with it. But even omitting the reader's response, I find it helps me to put my psyche on paper. Perhaps it is the constant revisions requiring me to examine and reexamine the experience over and over and over that allows me to work through the experience while I rework the text, but for me at least I find that by the time the writing has reached a suitable level of polish for publishing, I'll have come to terms with the issue and, forgive me for using psycho-babble, reached "closure." Perhaps the expression "closure" refers to the metaphor of the raw, open wound that while initially painful to the touch, over time it heals, or closes, to a point where it can be touched (upon) without pain. Hmm.

I'm sorry but our time is up.
That'll be $100.
See you next time.