Trauma writing

When I did my BA, I took a few writing subjects. The thing that struck me then, and has stayed with me since, was that many of my peers chose to write pieces that were based on or directly about their respective traumas.

I heard proposals about the struggles and tension arising from obsessive compulsive disorder, homosexuality, religion, sexual abuse and homelessness – all fertile, mulitfaceted subject matter which has every right to be explored, and should be.

But something was wrong. The thing that surprised me most about this phenomenon was that the writer-victims were mainly teens or in their early twenties, a year or two out of high school just like me, and not the so-called mature aged students.

None of my classmates seemed to be immature or particularly narcissistic, they mainly had the appearance of intelligent, articulate and well-read individuals. I’m not insinuating that their traumas weren’t serious and genuine or they should not have been ‘average looking’ because of their life experiences. But why and how did all these kids think writing about their pain was going to be useful for them?

One of the subjects I did was called The Writing Self, a class dedicated to the writing and reading of autobiography. This inevitably made the whole writing about me thing a lot more prominent in my mind, especially because each student had to read their proposal out from the front of the lecture theatre. Some students went so far as to promise their audience a, brace yourselves, tale more harrowing than any which had come before theirs and no less true. Really? Really.

Perhaps to my detriment, and while it’s not something I always achieve, I am a supporter of style over substance. At the time, I was under the impression most of my peers were of a similar belief, especially those writing literary fiction. But an emphasis on the story, one that promised to tug on heart strings and swell tear ducts to overflowing, goes some way in contradicting that.

But more importantly, why were all these kids taking the self-indulgent route? Did I miss that discussion? Was it cathartic? Did they think that’s what publishers were looking for? Did they equate autobiography with ‘everything that’s gone wrong in my life’?

Or was this, I wondered, what writers were like?

Today, I still wonder what prompted the ‘write my tragedy’ epidemic – it makes me uneasy for reasons I won’t explore here. I have learnt, however, that the ‘my life was a mess and I’m not going to bother hiding my experiences, observations and insights under the facade of fiction’ genre is real, thriving and profitable. I have also spoken to people of all ages who want me to write their life stories because, boy-oh-boy, have they been through some proverbial animal poo.

Just sending it out into the e-stratosphere.

Related posts:

1. Do writing courses ‘manufacture’ writers?
2. Thoughts on learning to write
3. Having a laugh – Timing in writing & comedy