Dancing with Words

The two-word answer to the question “why I write” that is honest, simple, and devoid of affectation and posturing is: “For pleasure.” Yes, I write only because it gives me pleasure. Six kinds of pleasure.

The pleasure of sublimation. The process of sublimation (Freud 1908), as we all know, involves the transformation of instinctual pressures (both sexual and aggressive) into noninstinctual activities that yield socially valued results. Writing is one such activity. For me, it serves as a way to express love, hate, revenge, envy, fatherly instruction, and brotherly tenderness. It also is an avenue for my object relatedness. Like vision, it is a “distant-contact” modality. I play with, talk to, touch, seduce, teach, annoy, and entertain others by writing. Such relational scenarios, unconscious though they might be, are not the only source of pleasure. Delightful also are the moments that lead to the coinage of phrases like “shameless brevity,” “the cultural ointment of poetry,” “the merciless knife of vengeance,” and, for describing Otto Kernberg's style of writing, “the precision of a surgeon and the parsimony of a banker.” To declare that “the sweetness of generosity is akin to children's laughter” and that “envy is a thorn in the flesh of admiration” are other examples of this sort. All such moments bring me pleasure.

The pleasure of pseudo-sublimation. A term that denotes seeming efforts at sublimation that, at their base, are motivated by an exhibitionistic search for glory and fame (Kernberg 1975), “pseudo-sublimation” also denotes my motivation to write. Embarrassing though it is to admit this, honesty requires full disclosure here. I also write and publish because I like to be well-known and widely respected. Writing has brought me many honors (including the prestigious Sigourney Award) and a modicum of “celebrity.” Each addition to my curriculum vitae (which, as of now, lists 396 publications, including an even hundred books that I have written or edited) assur