Writing in the Dark

Last night, I went to Richard Bausch’s reading and found that writers always leave me with something to take away from their work when they visit. Bausch was no exception. He read his story “One Hour in the History of Love” from his book Something is Out There and listening to him read, I understood why his work is so widely published. He practices what he teaches in the writing classroom and does it with such subtle, yet stunning perfection that the audience hung to his every word. It is difficult to read a long story at a reading and keep the audience’s attention, but Bausch managed to do so wonderfully.

During the question and answer session at the end, which is always my favorite part of a reading, someone asked Bausch if he outlined his stories before he wrote them and he said that he did not. Writing, he said, is much like driving a car at night. You can only see what is right in front of you. Sometimes, you find your way. Sometimes you have to back up and turn around.


I found this to be a beautiful and accurate metaphor. When I first started to write, I always wanted to know how my stories would end before I wrote them and only later learned after hundreds of attempts that it is best to let stories find their way to the end themselves, because they always do.


When I drove home last night after the reading, I took a new route back and was reminded of Bausch’s comparison of writing a story and driving at night. One of the roads I took was dark and had steep hills and curves, so that you could not see around the bend. The direction was new and I had to slow down and search for the street names in the dark.


Writing is the same. It is a writer’s way of reaching in the dark for a story and for meaning. Sometimes, it’s terrifying, because you think you are lost (and sometimes, you are), but like Bausch said, you just have to back up and turn around. Try again. Write again. There is always another road.