Person on the Page

Metaphor is a mystery nestled somewhere near the heart of language. Why do we so often think this way, uniting unlike things with our words—the abstract with the concrete—and feeling satisfaction rather than dissonance as a result? Metaphor allows us to describe what would be otherwise indescribable—the minutiae of our emotions, the pinpricks of our fears, the jolts inflicted by experiences. It joins us with the receivers of our words, our hearers or readers, allowing them to feel what we feel, to imagine themselves as we are.

Metaphor unites, yes, but it also separates, concealing what cannot be expressed in words behind the veil of the material.  All the world’s a stage.  Hope is the thing with feathers. I’m a riddle in nine syllables, an elephant, a ponderous house . . . .  The world, hope, the speaking I—all abstractions that are made tangible by eclipsing them with the familiar: a stage, a bird, an elephant, a house.

How do you, a writer of memoir or personal essays, become a palpable presence on the page for your readers?  How do you, a jumble of longings and dreams, fits and failings, triumphs and disappointments, noble goals and ignoble intentions, present yourself as the inimitable speaker of your message?  Step away from yourself, view the amazing chaos that is you, make choices about what’s important for readers to know.  Then, turn yourself into a metaphor.   

Recognize that the I that speaks in your writing is a construction, and you are its builder.  How do you lead readers to feel that they know you without meeting them face-to-face, interacting with them, and allowing them to experience you directly?  You create a persona—a metaphor that clothes the abstraction that is you in qualities that will make you seem knowable.

When fiction writers create a character, they may begin at ground zero.  They may envision a character in great detail, from physical appearance to physical location, from personal strengths to personal flaws, from core fears to psychological foibles. 

When writers of memoir and personal essays project themselves onto a page, they choose from a plethora of existing characteristics—the stuff of the self—and knit them together to fashion a metaphoric self. The “I” who speaks may be created to be likable, or maybe annoying, funny or brooding, self-promoting or self-deprecating, or a contradictory combination of these qualities—all by what the writer elects to present.

Distance is the key. See yourself as an observer would, from a position external to you. Float above yourself and watch. Replay your past experiences and look at the past you from the perspective of the present you. From what you observe, select tangibles, choose just enough of the right details to create the persona that you want to speak in your writing.    

Make metaphor work for you.  Let its capacity to define the undefinable make you, a beautiful abstraction, into a person on the page.