My preconceived notion that a preface and introduction do not contain much interesting content was blown away as I read the beginning pages of “The Fourth Genre.” I found this assigned reading very helpful as it broadened my view of what creative non-fiction really is. The words of Montaigne enlightened my own purpose in creative non-fiction when he stated, “It is myself I portray” (17). This understanding was further deepened by Mariana Torgovnick’s comment that “All writing, about self and culture is personal is that writers and critics find some of their richest material in experience” (17). The combined thoughts of Montaigne and Torgovnick spoke to my heart by solidifying in me the answer to “why write non-fiction?” The answer being so that I can portray to others the world as how I see it and the experiences of which I am blessed to encounter in order that others may expand their own lives by vicariously enjoying the experiences of another, all the while living out their own. This newfound answer adjoins the reason why I will read other non-fiction writers: so that I can view the world through a new set of lenses and vicariously experience things and places that I would not otherwise be able to experience. By both reading and writing non-fiction, my desire is to experience others lives, see through the eyes of others, and in turn, share my vision and experiences with others.

Phillip Lopate comment that “the hallmark of the personal essay is its intimacy” (24) reinforces my previous thoughts by inferring that together as writers and readers we build intimate friendships by the sharing of each others lives through the venue of words. All seventeen of my smiling muscles awoke from slumber when I read that “writers who seem most at home with this genre are those who like to delve and to inquire, to question, to explore, probe, meditate, analyze, turn things over, brood, worry – all of which creative non-fiction allows, even encourages” (25). Upon reading this snippet from a mere introduction of “The Fourth Genre,” I knew I had landed on home-base: THIS is the kind of writing I know I will never tire of exercising, or reading. Later thoughts in the Introduction answered my inquiries of how “truthful” does my writing have to be? My eyes were caught on the thought that “The truth may not necessarily be veracious enough to take into court or into a laboratory; it need only be veracious enough to satisfy the writer’s purpose and the art of writing” (27). This thought only deepened my understanding of what my purpose of writing non-fiction is and how I am to obtain those objectives.

Annie Dillard’s words plucked at the strings of my heart yet again (she has a unique way of reaching into my soul; I would classify her as an “unmet kindred spirit”). Dillard comments that as she transitioned from writing poetry and into creating non-fiction, “[She] felt as though [she] had switched from a single reed instrument to a full orchestra” (28). Wow! I think the only response after reading Dillard’s comment is to grab the nearest pen and begin writing with orchestra flourish on whatever will volunteer to retain the marks of the ink. As I read the section “Literary Approaches to Language,” (27-28), my thoughts cultivated into seeing non-fiction writing as taking on a hospitality role to the reader. I began to see myself, in the role of a non-fiction writer, taking on the responsibility of revealing to my readers the places they have yet to see, the experiences they have yet to encounter, a new angle on ordinary scents and sounds, all through the vehicle of the written word.

Thus, after reading a mere Preface and Introduction, I am abandoned . . . abandoned as a writer that is, in the world of creative non-fiction writing, and excited to explore the realm of memory and recollection.

I reached over to pick up the phone and make a few calls, but instead, my hand grasped an article that had been placed by the telephone set. "40 Signs That You Have Lost Your First Love". I went to set it down, yet something irresistable inside forced me to pick it back up, leaving the phone calls for later. I scanned the long list . . . realizing that my heart position matched way too many . . . "Has your heart lost the art of 'being' rather than 'doing'?" I read . . . "Does your heart think of doing things for others as less important than getting your own agenda accomplished?" . . . "Has the Living Word of God lost its appeal and ability to excite you?" . . . Oh gosh . . . . . my heart sank as I continued down the list, knowing that I have been living for my own little kingdom yet again, rather than God's kingdom.  In that kingdom there is no possible way to find fulfillment . . . such a deep and unsatisfactory rut, and yet, my flesh fights to to piddle away in the mud pies . . . "Mikayla! The OCEAN of God's love and grace and peace is awaiting you . . . leave your mud pies . . . come and bask in the balmy rays of the beaming Son!" . . . So many times I have heard these words; so many times have I pushed them aside . . . Oh God, may today be different! Today, may you carry me out the mud pit and place me in your awaiting ocean! . . . Help me to " remember my Creator in the days of my youth, before the evil days come and the years draw near of which I will say, "I have no pleasure in them "; before the sun and the light and the moon and the stars are darkened and the clouds return after the rain, in the day when the keepers of the house tremble, and the strong men are bent . . . for the end of the matter is to fear God and keep his commandments, for this is the whole duty of man. For God will bring every deed into judgment, with every secret thing, whether good or evil" (Ecclesiastes 12: 1-3, 13-14).       Oh God . . . may your purposes be the ones which infuse my heart with meaning, with excitment, with zest for living . . . TODAY oh God, write these words on my heart, that I may be filled with Your joy, your peace, your vision . . . I am in need of you to fill my heart with thankfulness and anticipation for your work to be done through me . . . and thank you....for placing that reminder just where my hand would pick it up.  Thank you for urging me to read it and thank you for preparing my heart to be at this place of need so that I would respond to your irresistable grace.  You are so faithful to care for me even in my busyness...drawing my heart back to yours.  My First Love.  

My preconceived notion that a preface and introduction do not contain much interesting content was blown away as I read the beginning pages of “The Fourth Genre.” I found this assigned reading very helpful as it broadened my view of what creative non-fiction really is. The words of Montaigne enlightened my own purpose in creative non-fiction when he stated, “It is myself I portray” (17). This understanding was further deepened by Mariana Torgovnick’s comment that “All writing, about self and culture is personal is that writers and critics find some of their richest material in experience” (17). The combined thoughts of Montaigne and Torgovnick spoke to my heart by solidifying in me the answer to “why write non-fiction?” The answer being so that I can portray to others the world as how I see it and the experiences of which I am blessed to encounter in order that others may expand their own lives by vicariously enjoying the experiences of another, all the while living out their own. This newfound answer adjoins the reason why I will read other non-fiction writers: so that I can view the world through a new set of lenses and vicariously experience things and places that I would not otherwise be able to experience. By both reading and writing non-fiction, my desire is to experience others lives, see through the eyes of others, and in turn, share my vision and experiences with others.

Phillip Lopate comment that “the hallmark of the personal essay is its intimacy” (24) reinforces my previous thoughts by inferring that together as writers and readers we build intimate friendships by the sharing of each others lives through the venue of words. All seventeen of my smiling muscles awoke from slumber when I read that “writers who seem most at home with this genre are those who like to delve and to inquire, to question, to explore, probe, meditate, analyze, turn things over, brood, worry – all of which creative non-fiction allows, even encourages” (25). Upon reading this snippet from a mere introduction of “The Fourth Genre,” I knew I had landed on home-base: THIS is the kind of writing I know I will never tire of exercising, or reading. Later thoughts in the Introduction answered my inquiries of how “truthful” does my writing have to be? My eyes were caught on the thought that “The truth may not necessarily be veracious enough to take into court or into a laboratory; it need only be veracious enough to satisfy the writer’s purpose and the art of writing” (27). This thought only deepened my understanding of what my purpose of writing non-fiction is and how I am to obtain those objectives.

Annie Dillard’s words plucked at the strings of my heart yet again (she has a unique way of reaching into my soul; I would classify her as an “unmet kindred spirit”). Dillard comments that as she transitioned from writing poetry and into creating non-fiction, “[She] felt as though [she] had switched from a single reed instrument to a full orchestra” (28). Wow! I think the only response after reading Dillard’s comment is to grab the nearest pen and begin writing with orchestra flourish on whatever will volunteer to retain the marks of the ink. As I read the section “Literary Approaches to Language,” (27-28), my thoughts cultivated into seeing non-fiction writing as taking on a hospitality role to the reader. I began to see myself, in the role of a non-fiction writer, taking on the responsibility of revealing to my readers the places they have yet to see, the experiences they have yet to encounter, a new angle on ordinary scents and sounds, all through the vehicle of the written word.

Thus, after reading a mere Preface and Introduction, I am abandoned . . . abandoned as a writer that is, in the world of creative non-fiction writing, and excited to explore the realm of memory and recollection.

I reached over to pick up the phone and make a few calls, but instead, my hand grasped an article that had been placed by the telephone set. "40 Signs That You Have Lost Your First Love". I went to set it down, yet something irresistable inside forced me to pick it back up, leaving the phone calls for later. I scanned the long list . . . realizing that my heart position matched way too many . . . "Has your heart lost the art of 'being' rather than 'doing'?" I read . . . "Does your heart think of doing things for others as less important than getting your own agenda accomplished?" . . . "Has the Living Word of God lost its appeal and ability to excite you?" . . . Oh gosh . . . . . my heart sank as I continued down the list, knowing that I have been living for my own little kingdom yet again, rather than God's kingdom.  In that kingdom there is no possible way to find fulfillment . . . such a deep and unsatisfactory rut, and yet, my flesh fights to to piddle away in the mud pies . . . "Mikayla! The OCEAN of God's love and grace and peace is awaiting you . . . leave your mud pies . . . come and bask in the balmy rays of the beaming Son!" . . . So many times I have heard these words; so many times have I pushed them aside . . . Oh God, may today be different! Today, may you carry me out the mud pit and place me in your awaiting ocean! . . . Help me to " remember my Creator in the days of my youth, before the evil days come and the years draw near of which I will say, "I have no pleasure in them "; before the sun and the light and the moon and the stars are darkened and the clouds return after the rain, in the day when the keepers of the house tremble, and the strong men are bent . . . for the end of the matter is to fear God and keep his commandments, for this is the whole duty of man. For God will bring every deed into judgment, with every secret thing, whether good or evil" (Ecclesiastes 12: 1-3, 13-14).       Oh God . . . may your purposes be the ones which infuse my heart with meaning, with excitment, with zest for living . . . TODAY oh God, write these words on my heart, that I may be filled with Your joy, your peace, your vision . . . I am in need of you to fill my heart with thankfulness and anticipation for your work to be done through me . . . and thank you....for placing that reminder just where my hand would pick it up.  Thank you for urging me to read it and thank you for preparing my heart to be at this place of need so that I would respond to your irresistable grace.  You are so faithful to care for me even in my busyness...drawing my heart back to yours.  My First Love.