Radio Essay: Date from Hell

The flash nonfiction radio essay is an enlightening assignment to the sophomoric writer in the sense that, instead of writing towards a page number, the writer must take extra care to condense and compress their writing down to its basest, most essential elements. The course curriculum so far has done a great job in directing us to think about how to communicate greater meaning with less words.

My biggest struggle with the flash nonfiction essay was a fear to truly explore the subject matter I wanted to. Indeed, my first date was ruined by the death of two people who I did not know - and the biggest emotion I felt was a disappointment that the date didn't go the way it seemed it was meant to go. I feared this would paint me in a very selfish light (which, admittedly, it still does), however, the class's reaction to my piece informed me that I really should've pushed the boundaries and taken the risk. In a way, having to compress the language caused me to fear that this message of selfishness would become too simple; not nuanced enough to paint me in a decent light. In lieu of the class discussion, I should've stuck with my original theme: that these people I didn't know had the audacity to die during my first -- almost successful -- date.

Comments

  1. Yes, I loved how the class zeroed into what seemed the heart of that piece, Ben. The issue of brevity--finding ways to whittle down a story to its essence--does seem to be at the heart of this exercise. What exactly does that demand? As I think about it, in these very brief pieces there is a kind of attention to the sentence very early on in the process: is it clear, does it sound like speaking, can it be more concise, does it carry essential meaning? I'd love to hear more of you comment on the how brevity shifts your attention to things as writers.

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  2. This is something I think is common to the nonfiction genre as a whole: humans are by and large awful. It is easy to see all of the ways in which other people are awful, but harder to admit our own faults or, as Cat called them "renegade emotions." We all have them, to varying degrees, and it is our shared secret.

    Interestingly, many of the people I'd be fastest to describe as capital G Good in this world are the ones who are quickest to talk about the dark thoughts they've had. I think that by being willing to break the cycle and share those feelings with others, it relieves some of the pressure of the shame that everyone else carries around. (And conversely, I think a lot of the worst people I know are the ones who go the opposite direction, and crow about being above reproach.)

    I know the stories that move me the most are the ones where the author or speaker taps into something that is hard in the telling. That isn't to say that there can't be fun stories, stories about people doing good, but even in the two days of class that we heard everyone's material played back, the ones that I remember are the ones that touched on something the teller had to take a risk by giving us, above and beyond just hating how their voice sounds on a recording.

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  3. I think, Ben, that one of the strengths of your recording was the fact that your personality and vocal expression came through on the recording. In other workshops, I love when you and John tell stories before class, because both of you are very animated in your telling, in a good way, a way that is really engaging.

    I imagine that that will become more present if you allow yourself to talk about more vulnerable subject matter. I think that what John said above is true—the stories that I remember most are the ones in which the narrator put themselves at emotional risk to tell. It deepens the bond Bruce talked about in his blog reply to John (the bond between the listener and the speaker as a sort of companionship and intimate conversation).

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  4. You couldn't have described it more perfectly. We have to make our stories concise, and that is extremely difficult. Usually it can be difficult getting to a certain page requirement as you said, but in our assignments we have had to make difficult choices in what to keep, and what to cut. I feel like what is kept, and what is cut out in a smaller piece like we are working on is more important, but most, if not all of your content could be remembered by a listener. You have to make it count. On a larger written body of work, there is more room for error, I suppose. I story could have a weak intro, and a compelling ending and still be decent. With this content, a piece has to be strong throughout, or should be. This class is challenging everyone in class in new ways, it seems like.

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  5. Ben, your essay, and the struggle to not come off too cold or selfish, was one of the more interesting issues our workshop brought up. I hadn't thought of how the length of the piece might have made you more hesitant to be authentic, and I think you're right that it would be really difficult to phrase your essay in a way that isn't too abrasive. I think that enough of the audience listening can connect to a sort of conflicted selfishness that being more direct with this theme would work really well. Your essay reminded me a lot of how David Sedaris walks the line between difficult topics and humor. Really nice listening to your essay.

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