“So what’s the deal with Divine Play?” you may (but probably didn’t) ask.
I just want to say here that I had a great writing teacher from Chicago, who followed Joseph Conrad’s dictum that the task of a writer is “by the power of the written word, to make you hear, to make you feel…[and] before all, to make you see.” That’s what I keep trying to do.
Writing style, I’ve discovered, is the by-product of your focus on (1) helping the reader to see, and (2) eliciting an intellectual or (preferably) emotional response. I am affected by many societal ills in our world—but, of course, we all are. I’ve discovered that, before you can feel someone’s pain, you must feel your own. This means allowing griefs, rages, fears, lusts, and—hopefully—loves to arise within you, when you’d really, really rather that they stay submerged, soporifically twitching their tails in the primordial ocean of the “under-consciousness.”
Another impetus for writing, for me, is the need to express things I’ve often thought or felt, but which seem to be generally unsaid or unacknowledged. But, of course, too much gravity makes you a black hole. I believe in jokes, in fooling around, in poking fun—not at people, but at the many exhausting, absurd and sometimes malicious products of human endeavor. I like the French assertion, la bêtise est mon forte, i.e., “Silliness is my strong point.”