“Writing, everywhere, among all peoples, still provokes horror. Where there is nothing, there is a piece of paper. It’s the dawn of the world. There’s nothing, it’s blank. And then hours later, it’s full. You compete with God. You dare to create something. You write.” (Marguerite Duras “Me and Other Writings”)
The fear of creation and nothingness. This horror is not confined to any specific group or era but is a fundamental aspect of the human condition. The terror of writing stems from the confrontation with the blank page, a symbol of the void, of nothingness. This void is intimidating. It demands the writer to bring forth something from the depths of their mind, to manifest thoughts, emotions, and worlds that did not previously exist. It is the transformation of the nothing to the unique, of the emptiness to the fullness, that produces fear and horror, and one cannot escape from it. Duras emphasized the passage of time, the labor and dedication as required to fill the void. This metamorphosis is a testament to the writer’s perseverance and courage, as they battle to translate thought into language.
The act of writing is elevated to the near-mythical level, every writer engages in a personal creation myth whenever they put pen on paper. Creation becomes the genesis of existence, the potential for new ideas, stories, and expressions to come into being. The writer enters into a divine realm, competing with God in an audacious act of creation that mirrors the divine. To write is to dare, to challenge the void, and to impose one’s vision upon the world. It is an act of bravery of defiance, and ultimately, of profound humanity.
“That fear you feel when you write, it’s normal. You shouldn’t fear that fear. If the fear didn’t exist, you wouldn’t write. When I reread my books, I fear.”
Fear is not merely an obstacle but a fundamental component of the creative process, a catalyst for creativity. The anxiety and self-doubt are integral to the process of producing meaningful work. Fear indicates the stakes involved in creation — the risk of exposure, the potential for failure, and the vulnerability of sharing one’s innermost thoughts. It is precisely this fear that fuels the urgency and authenticity of the written word.
Dura’s admission of fear when rereading her own books shows the perpetual cycle of self-examination and critique that writers endure. Even after the work is complete, the fear remains, the creation is never truly finished. Each rereading is a confrontation with past vulnerabilities and an opportunity for growth and reflection. This fear brings out the paradox of writing: the very fear that threatens to inhibit creation is also what compels it.
“I said it in Hiroshima mon amour: it’s not the scattering of desire or the romantic endeavor that counts. What counts is the hell of a unique love story. Nothing can replace it, not even a second love story. Not even a lie. The more you provoke it, the more it escapes you. To love is to love someone. There is no other life to live. All first love stories are broken and then you carry that same story into other stories. When you've experienced love with someone you are forever marked by it and afterwards you carry this story from person to person. You can't separate from it.”
The fear inherent in writing parallels the fear and intensity of a unique love story. The experience of profound love is too an audacious act that provokes horror and awe — a deeply emotional journey that leaves an indelible mark on one’s soul. Both love and writing are acts of creation that entail significant risk and fear. Both require a confrontation with the unknown, a daring leap into vulnerability, and an acceptance of the lasting impact they will have on the individual’s soul.
Initial experiences shape the subsequent ones. Each written piece carries the essence of the write’s previous works, their fears, triumphs, and failures. Th lover is forever marked by the past experiences, unable to fully separate from them. This continuity and inescapability underscore the connection between the creative and emotional aspects of human experience.
Love cannot be forced or manufactured. It is an organic, often elusive phenomenon that resists manipulation. It is about genuinely loving another person, and it becomes a defining aspect of one’s existence. There is a sense of inevitability and acceptance that to live fully is to embrace this love, in all its complexity and intensity, The “hell” of a unique story refers to the intensity of emotions, the highs and lows, and the transformative power of love. This first love becomes a lens, a constant companion, a story that is carries forward, influencing and intertwining with new narratives.
“You can't avoid uniqueness, fidelity, as if you were your very own cosmos. To love everyone as the Christians and others proclaim, what a joke. Such things are a lie. You can only ever love one person at a time. Never two at a time.”
The nature of love is mandatory personal and exclusive. It is the uniqueness of the feelings that makes it impossible to be repeated, either simultaneously or not. Duras dismisses the notion of a universal, indiscriminate love, highlighting instead the singular focus and depth required to genuinely love another person. This exclusive love is akin to the unique creative act of writing, where each piece is a distinct endeavor, filled with its own fears and revelations. True love requires a singular focus and devotion that cannot be diluted by the idea of loving multiple people simultaneously. Duras argues that this concept of universal love diminishes the depth and sincerity of true affection. Genuine love, she implies, is not a diffuse sentiment that can be spread thinly across many relationships, but a concentrated, intense connection with one person at a time.
The fear of losing oneself in the void of the blank page parallels the fear of losing oneself in the depth of a singular, exclusive love. Both writing and love involve confronting the unknown, embracing vulnerability, and accepting the impact they will have on one’s life.