What Does Writing About Tragedy Help Us Accomplish?

Ernie Pyle, the man with the white goggles, was a WWII
journalist . His experiences were cataloged in Brave Men.  

The shootings in Newton, Connecticut were a tragedy. Something, I admit, I have a hard time feeling sad about. I am human. I cry when people I know die, when my animals die, and when I know a person's story. Fred Weasley never existed, yet his passing still made me cry simply because I knew enough about him. However, I have a hard time feeling any sadness when tragedy strikes outside the scope of people I know.

I imagine immersion has a lot to do with feeling close to the situation. Immersion in a community, a family, a fake world, or a town can certainly effect you. Journalists have to deal with this whenever they immerse themselves in a community.

A couple of days ago The Dart Center for Journalism & Trauma released a guide  on how journalists should deal with tragic events. They mentioned Ernie Pyle (picture above) a WWII correspondent who wrote from the battle front. He was one of the first writers to travel with soldiers and write about war in as we know it today. His accounts would capture the death of people he knew, the mental break down of soldiers on their way home, and the horrors of war in general. His book Brave Men is an excellent depiction of the horrible things that occurred there. His book was something that allowed the reader to become immersed into the midst of the war.

Writing is a communication tool that helps translate a tragedy into something everyone can feel. To watch the soul poor out of a child's or soldier's eyes is something that when put into narrative form tugs at the heart. When the details are revealed, a person is known, an experience is described in detail we begin to understand that outside community.

Writing does more than this however, as the Dart Center pointed out writing can help the writer deal with a  tragedy. They do this by writing for themselves about the events. Reports are simply not enough (It is speculated Pyle still had post traumatic stress disorder). There are things journalists know that they cannot share with the public. Things they might hang on to that they shouldn't. Writing, talking with others, and any other manner of therapy can help in those situations. It can essentially help everyday people deal with the most abhorrent of situations.


Writing can help us communicate on a deeper level. It can help us know our fears and nightmares in a way that can be communicated to all. Fiction can do this just as well as a journal of real events. That communication of every aspect of life is something that can help console not only a reader, but a writer as well. Sharing these thoughts can even make a person like me, who feels detached from Newton, find a way to feel its effects.

Small Gifts

Yesterday I achieved my first written page. Today I will continue on, though I may be feeling a little levity and the thankful holiday spirit. 

I got to hear from my uncle for the second time in my life. He's German and the language barrier is a little hard to bridge, so having my mother there helped. He called us on Thanksgiving to share some bad news. So the reunion was a bit tainted. He told us that my Oma, or grandma in German, died sometime between 2008-09. She had dementia and was hard to keep track of a continent away. 

I have very few memories of my Oma, I was very young the last time I saw her. It was Christmas and she was visiting, as she did every year. This year I showed her the completed 3D castle puzzle that she had gotten me the year before. I remember being very proud of that puzzle. I remember her gray and white hair and loving it. She didn't speak any English, only German, so I don't remember anything she said to me, but I do remember her smiles. So her passing, sad as it is to say, did not affect me as it probably should have. My only problem is that we did not try to find her earlier. That I did not try, still, about the time I was thinking about looking for her, she had already passed.

So in remembering the little things and hearing from my uncle again I can be thankful for this day. I can be thankful for the family that received me at my mother's (step-mother's). It was a reminder of all the good family can bring to the soul.

I saw my sister's today; who though ten and twelve years younger than me are now taller than I am. After having not seen them in a month I realized how quickly they grow and was thankful I had the opportunity to see them. 

Life is such an interesting plethora of events, often taking place on the same day. Something that effects me one way, effects others differently. Thanksgiving is a holiday that requires us in some ways to reflect on what we are grateful for. I am grateful for my family however broken it is. It is filled with complexities I can appreciate and can only hope to emulate in a story. It is the intricate pieces that really bring life to the people we know. It's not all sunshine and rainbows and it's not all doom and gloom. I am thankful for this life, and all the small gifts that come with it. 

Happy Thanksgiving everyone!