New Research into Theory of Mind Demonstrates a Need for Fiction

Most of my writing these days in fact-based; despite having a third story published this year, I don't really think of myself as trying to write fiction lately. But maybe I should revisit that. Turns out that fiction, contrary to what 47 states' new educational standards say, is vital to the development of understanding other people. Yes, just as the CCSS calls for an increase in the amount of non-fiction being taught in Language Arts classes, and a decrease of fiction, new brain research is showing that reading fiction acts on our brains in fascinating ways.


Here's an opinion piece from the New York Times:


"Your Brain on Fiction
By Annie Murphy Paul
March 17, 2012

AMID the squawks and pings of our digital devices, the old-fashioned virtues of reading novels can seem faded, even futile. But new support for the value of fiction is arriving from an unexpected quarter: neuroscience.       

Brain scans are revealing what happens in our heads when we read a detailed description, an evocative metaphor or an emotional exchange between characters. Stories, this research is showing, stimulate the brain and even change how we act in life..."

And here's what the Los Angeles Times had to say:

Another Use for Literature

By Robert M. Sapolsky

December 29, 2013

"... Developmental psychologists track when children first display this ability by testing them with stories like this: 'Every day, Sally puts her beloved toy rabbit Stuffy on her pillow before going to preschool. One day, after Sally leaves for school, her father notices that Stuffy is quite dirty and puts him in the washing machine. He intends to then put him in the dryer, but forgets. When Sally returns from school that day, she wants to tell her friend Stuffy about her day. Where would she expect to find him?'


A child who has not yet developed the skills of theory of mind will say, 'In the washing machine.' The child knows where Stuffy is from having heard the story, and so assumes that Sally must know this too. Only when a child has developed the intuitive ability to put herself in another's shoes can she recognize that Sally would not know about the laundering, because it happened after she left for school, and so would look for Stuffy on her bed...


Now, research by David Comer Kidd and Emanuele Castano of the New School for Social Research, published in the journal Science, suggests that reading literature improves these intuitive abilities. But not just any literature. Literature with a capital L."


Intriguing stuff. It's definitely making me value my own habit of reading good writing on a daily basis.

Words have power; actions, too.
Your choices will come back to you.

Wisdom from Emerson

Courtesy of a greeting card lying on my desk:

"Finish each day and be done with it. You have done what you could.

Some blunders and absurdities have crept in; forget them as soon as you can.

Tomorrow is a new day.

You shall begin it serenely and with too high a spirit

to be encumbered with your old nonsense."

Colorful

A woman walks by the window, holding a toddler by the hand. Her loose cotton shirt is the color of ripe melon. I think of summery apricots and autumn leaves. And wish that it were cooler outside.

Over and Out

Man. I am not in a good mood today.

Stupid Fridays. At the end of stupid long weeks. I get so tired.

I tried to seal this blog off last night. Blogs are passé now. Everyone's on to Twitter. This blog isn't going to be my entre into the world of letters. It doesn't even provide very good service value to readers. Consequently readership has dropped over the years. So I sealed this off, thinking it would stay as my own personal journal.

But then I couldn't.

When I sat down to write today, I started feeling panicked. Like I wasn't going to be able to write, like I didn't have any connection to the real world. All the things I do every day, everywhere I go, does anyone even notice me? Does it even matter where I am? I smile at people; I make small talk; I buy things and sit at public tables. But that's not really being integrated into a social environment is it? That's not really being an inherent part. Not like it would be if I could afford to have a regular job and a promising career.

At least with this blog, I have the illusion that I might be communicating as part of a bigger picture. Providing a message to someone in Illinois, or the UK, or, surprisingly, Ukraine. Without that comforting illusion, what's the point of writing?

Plus I had to sign in to even see my blog. That freaked me out. What if I forget my password? I've had to change so many passwords recently due to spamming and hacking that that has happened to me. I've lost access to some of my accounts. So, since I feel anxious anyway, there didn't seem to be any point in adding to my suffering. After all, no one is reading this besides me anyway. So why seal it from no one? And if you have read this far, consider yourself a rare exception.

Okay. I really have to pull myself together and finish my story. Over and out.

Good Chocolate Eclairs Too

I'm writing in a new bakery today. So far, I love it. It's big and pretty calm, but not deserted. The tables are comfy, I found an outlet, and the air conditioning is blasting cold which is a definite must in our continued string of 105 degree sweltering heat days.

I've knocked out two proposals and some emails so far. Next I really need to finish the story that's due in my writing class tomorrow as the final project. I have a good start and a great end; I just need to buckle down and get the middle going. I'm taking advantage of this space to warm up and get my tone flowing so that it doesn't sound forced by the deadline.

Happy writing to all!

Good Dreams

Last night I dreamed that I was hanging around with the Walton family and my good friend John Boy. We were just shootin the breeze, talking writing and siblings.

Then Adrian Monk appeared. He and I hit it off very well. We were having a great time together. Then I decided to worry about responsibility. Called a halt to the action -- yeah, like a dream pregnancy was really going to pose a big problem. Sheesh, it was a DREAM, after all -- and never got back to it because of interruption from all those little Waltons.

Huh.

Not too different from my real life. You think I could do better with my unconscious mind.

Still, it was fun while it lasted. :)