memory...and all its friends

THE MORE I LOOK at the topic of memory, the more I realise how many avenues, how many side streets there are. (I almost compared these to dendrites on a neuron - which shows what I busy my brain over these days!)  This is especially true when talking to people.  I mention to people I am writing a book about memory, or more specifically the role of memory in faith, and they come back with some really interesting thoughts and questions.  I chatted with two old friends earlier this week - and conversation with one led to the topics of story telling and of severe memory loss (in reference to forms of dementia).  The other asked the question: what about memories you want to forget?  (I.e. how to deal with bad memories.) Strangely enough, I'd been typing up some thoughts on that very topic only the day before.

All these things fascinate me.  There have rarely been any topics that have fascinated me as much as this one; I'm not sure an 'idea' has ever held so much staying power in my mind before.  But I know I cannot cover everything in this book.  I want to recognise the issues involved, while acknowledging the limits of my subtopic, if that makes sense.

The book focuses on the importance of remembering in the life of faith (looking at the role of memory both in biblical times and today) and the flipside of this - the problems of forgetting.  And I suppose the book does focus on forgetfulness - recognising the damage and distress it can cause, looking at how our memories are so essential to questions of identity - another point I emphasise throughout the book.  Within that I recognise the distress for those who lose memory through degenerative illness, but I cannot make this a primary focus.  I also refer in one chapter about the power of our memories - and the potential mastery of 'bad memories'.  So far, that chapter is more reflective than anything else - asking questions without rushing in with clumsy answers.

At the moment I'm doing a lot of science related research, learning about how our brains work, what memory is (itself a matter of disagreement for many) and how we store and experience memory.  I know this is will not be a major element of the book but it is essential to have this in the background, underpinning my paragraphs and ensuring I don't write anything...well, dopey.

I described it recently in an email to a friend as a many tentacled thing, and that is what it feels like.  There are a lot of tentacles, but I adore my topic.  My problem is that I can't work out how much time to spend on the book and how much to spend on one off article writing...although I'm considering using the 'tentacles' as topics for articles, too.  It seems sensible to make the research fuel more than one area, and that way I don't feel disloyal to either form of writing.

Finally, I am trying to work out how to build a 'platform' for the book when I do start trying to get it published.  I suppose related articles (and frequent blog bashing) is good place to start!

why this time it's different

A PACKAGE has been left for me in the church office.  I open it excitedly and expectantly and there it is - a copy of The Making of Memory by Steven Rose, lent to me by a church member and retired doctor - a very thoughtful and clever man.  The loan is a result of a conversation we had last week.

This would never happened a couple of years ago.

Because the reason my friend has lent me a book on memory is because that he knows I am writing a book relating to the subject.  The reason he knows is because I told him.  If people ask me what I am spending my time on, I tell them I'm writing a book.  If they're not careful, I tell them what it's about.  If they make the mistake of appearing really interested, I'll start talking to them about their brains.  Their brains.

Good grief!

Previous versions of me shudder at the thought - being bold enough to talk about my writing?  Confessing (with no coercion) that I am writing a book?  And - unheard of - telling them what it's about?

It's not as if I've never tried to write a book before.  So what's the difference?  Why now?

There are two main reasons, I think - one general and one specific. The first reason is that I have now owned my vocation as a writer.That is what I am. I no longer say things like 'I'd love to write' or 'I like writing'; I say 'I am a writer'.  If they ask me what I write, well, I've already told you what happens then.

The second reason, I have recently realised, is that I love this book. The more I research, the more interested I get.  The possibilities breed and expand, connections are made, and the more I discover the more I love it.  It's not petering out, not like previous projects.  This time it's different.  I'm not hampered by worry over its potential success.  I want to finish this book. Actually, from my perspective, it feels like it wants me to write it, which is the other way round.

Those are two of the reasons why this time it's different.  And the sense of purpose can occasionally be intoxicating.  Of course, there's a lot of hard work involved.  I know it will take a lot of effort to do this and to do this well.  But I have every intention of doing it.  Which, I suppose, is Reason Number 3.

do not forget what you have been given

Recently I've been carving out more space for thinking and reflection.  I don't think I've done this deliberately, but suddenly my mental synapses are firing happily away, my tendency to pause and think is re-invigorated - not least due to the words written by others, be it through books, articles, or blogs.

The beauty of our capacity to think and feel astonishes me - taking some inward part and tugging at it, creating a need to think more deeply and communicate more profoundly.

Which makes me look at my own writing projects and think: what has got left behind?  What should I be focusing on - but I am not?

My main big project, bubbling in the background is still the 'book' on forgetfulness and memory, a bubbling that does not stop, but is often trampled on by my medley-like mind, churning with ideas.  I'm challenged to take time out and truly focus on it, in the manner I did in November for my novel writing project.  That project was purely for fun, but it showed me how much I could write if I developed the daily habit of working on one longer piece of work.  I'm more nervous at approaching this one - because I take it more seriously.

It's a book about our tendency to forget - and how this impacts our sense of identity and our faith, yet often I myself forget to actually work on it (pulls face at irony).

I pray that some how I will be able to choose wisely what I focus on and when, not neglecting the important things nor stealing time from those who need me.

Something has happened to me in the past year whereby I no longer desire to 'be' a writer; it is what I am.  Suddenly I am experiencing something that I had always hankered after: a sense of vocation.  I can feel it running through me, fiery and passionate, desperate to be heard.

I do not know how to describe it, but I am utterly grateful for it.  I just pray I use it wisely.