Quiringh Gerritsz. van Brekelenkam:
A Confidential Chat (1661)

" … engaging in solo dialogue …"

It's accepted wisdom within the publishing business that an author must know his comparables. This essential knowledge becomes critical when classifying a work, and classifying has always been necessary before a work can become a marketable book, for without a classification, no librarian or bookseller could know where to display the damned thing. So, a few years ago, I asked a friend who teaches library science at a prestigious Eastern university to gift me with a classification for my work. He returned with one I found only distantly satisfying: Historical Autobiographical Philosophical Fiction. He claimed this grouping included many of the most popular authors publishing today. I felt flattered to be included in any category, let alone such a prestigious one, but I couldn't help feeling like I was still missing something.

The authors he listed as comparables didn't seem to be in the same business as I had been. I couldn't complain about the association; it felt flattering but also false. If I write fiction, it seems different from any other I've seen, for I avoid plotting and character development in favor of what? My writing seems more self-discovery than fiction, speculation focused upon uncovering something, as if in service of something other than a fictional thrill. As well as Historical and Autobiographical, my fiction seems future-related, for it almost always focuses on learning something—upon a terribly individual sort of personal improvement. I am not producing instructions for anybody except sometimes myself, and even then, they seem more benevolent speculation.

Consequently, it has become increasingly clear to me while creating this GoodNuff Series, of which this entry will be the final one, that Historical Autobiographical Philosophical Fiction fails to characterize what I have been attempting here, for I have been carrying on a curious kind of dialogue rather than trying to accomplish anything tangible. I do not attempt to clearly characterize anybody's past. My autobiographical sketches seem sparse and abstract rather than in any way exact or definitive. My philosophy, too, seems particularly feral and unschooled. I am not touting or informed by any popular philosophical schools and very likely violate many of the formal rules for engaging in philosophical exposition.

When The Muse and I were still consulting, our practice was informed by the principles of a practice called dialogue proposed by physicist David Bohm and others, who framed dialogue as a very special purpose kind of conversation. Unlike discussion, which Boh reflected borrowed its roots from 'concussion', dialogue was not intended to convince anyone of anything. Nor was it meant to definitively describe anything other than one's sensations. It was a form within which feelings might fairly balance with facts and facts with fictions to produce impressions perhaps more useful than any purely denotive description. These notions worked magic on teams that had become high-centered on some issue, for often, the difficulty stemmed from a misalignment of presence, not from any obvious problem requiring a non-obvious solution. The team would have become a team in name only, incoherent in practice. Dialogue resolved these troubling incoherences without requiring anyone to propose or enforce resolution.

We engaged in dialogue by sitting in a circle where everyone involved could see and hear everyone else. Then we would invite those assembled to speak from their 'I'’ for themselves and nobody else. Rather than observe defensively or reflexively, ready to pounce upon a “wrong” idea or prepare a clever rebuttal while another spoke, we'd observe reflectively—actively reflecting upon both what was being said and how we were feeling about what we heard. Others didn't make us feel anything; we owned our interpretations and feelings. We observed to the extent that we were prepared to be changed by what we heard.

We deliberately, explicitly suspended our certainties. We engaged in dialogic conversations with the certainty that we did not, could not know how the conversation should turn out. We consciously suspended our usual certainties about the validity of our own and other’s beliefs, about who others might be, and what must be accomplished to achieve a desired end. We enquired rather than positioned. We'd ask rather than insist.

We'd hold space for difference to emerge. We did not anticipate agreement or similarity. We expected our conversation to surprise, annoy, or even delight us. We did not insist that others share our perspective, only that we each share our own perspective. We might look for and discover patterns of sameness, but we held deliberate space for unresolved, even unresolvable differences to emerge from our conversation.

We taught our clients to speak from I so that we could each speak for ourselves and nobody else. Conversation could get sidetracked when enquiring about what a group thinks or insisting that we know what another thinks, feels, or believes. We'd share our perspective not to convince another of the rightness of our perspective but to allow another to know about our perspective. We did not challenge the correctness of any other’s perspective but instead accepted their story as a reflection of what they perceived.

Magic often resulted from such a dialogue. Agreement, resolution, and even invention emerged from this spare framework within which people engaged. As I've been creating this GoodNuff Series, I have been slowly realizing that I have been engaged in a kind of dialogue here, a special purpose conversation focused upon and explicitly including only one. I have not been writing my GoodNuff Stories to instruct anyone except, perhaps, sometimes myself. Nor have I been producing historical autobiographical philosophical fiction, nothing so well-crafted or deliberate. I realize now that I have been engaging in a dialogue involving one, for I have been sitting in a circle here where I can see what I'm doing. I have usually been observing and commenting reflectively rather than reflexively, though I have occasionally engaged in a rant as if to blow off some steam.

I have seemed awfully (or wonderfully) uncertain. I posed questions and then wrestled with them. I asked myself some tough questions. I largely held my space. I allowed myself to meander, to enquire rather than simply propose. I rarely knew if I was getting any closer. Often, some different perspective would emerge. Above all, I caught myself speaking for myself, from myself, not so much to lay down any authoritative or even speculative Historical Autobiographical Philosophical Fiction but more to engage in what-if, what-then speculation. I decisively concluded almost nothing, yet I still feel like I propelled myself into a different space than where I began. Dialogue magic might also work within a circle of one.

I will propose a label for what I've been doing all this time, which might prove superior to Historical Autobiographical Philosophical Fiction. I might have been engaging in solo dialogue or iAlogue here. I'm letting that notion sink in while reflecting on its ramifications. This proposition seems to do nothing to resolve my dilemma regarding comparables. It might well prove GoodNuff, though.

©2023 by David A. Schmaltz - all rights reserved

Tags: #GoodNuff, #PureSchmaltz