Musings on Writing and Writers

[Merelas]

I would say that this is going to be a very weird post, but I have seen previous posts that I believe will top it… some of them mine, in fact.

 

This is not a work, per se. It is merely a musing… thoughts, if you will, on writing, and writers. At least, that is how it will start. I have no idea where it will go from there. I might write about ambition, and I might write about death. Who knows? When a writer is given a pen, who knows where the story will go?

 

Sometimes the writer knows. Sometimes they do not. The case is different, I believe, for every individual. Most times, I do not. Very seldom do I start a project with all ends and possibilities predetermined. It is said that, “A writer must be master over the world they create.” If this is so, I am a very poor master.

 

Because I am finding (if I may be so bold as to call myself a writer… I am not sure the title is deserved, but for the sake of argument, we shall say that I am), that it is more the other way around. I do not control the world—the world controls me. The words compel me… they are the reason that I write, and the reason that I will always (no matter where I end up in life) write.

 

Another reason that I do not fancy myself a writer immediately—the way I go about it. I find myself trying to incorporate big words (such as incorporate… I almost deleted it when I saw that I had used one there, deliberately) to show of my fancy vocabulary. I find myself striving to find newer words, ones that others haven’t used yet, and shove them into the work, even when it isn’t necessary. Especially when it isn’t necessary.

 

Is this wrong? I wonder, briefly, and I’ll continue after I think about an answer.

 

In some cases I believe it is… but in some cases, it isn’t. A writer must love words—it goes with the territory, like it or not. But then again… words should not be abused. I firmly believe that “The pen is mightier than the sword,” and that words have the power to destroy a person. Someone who is talented enough with them could drive a person insane, I believe.

 

And where are wars decided? Where do they begin? With words, in the Senate, or the equivalent of it in other nations. Or the United Nations. We are a society that has come to depend on words to survive. And when you take away the words… that is something that has gone very wrong. God help the man who no longer has words to speak in his own defense, and God pity the soul who has brought said man to this state.

 

But this was not meant to be about me. It was meant to be about writers in general. I have a theory about writers. I know that it is not true for all, or even possibly most writers… but I believe that deep down, inside each person who is glued to a pen or a keyboard or a pencil and paper, each one holds the same dream. And that dream is this: to leave behind a legacy.

 

Each writer wants to create a world in which they can escape, and others can escape, and know who granted them this privilege. To be able to inspire someone so that they stop as they read. So that they stop, and think “This person is amazing. How can anyone write with such beauty, such passion, such attention to detail?”

 

And then they read on, because they hunger for more of the words that you, the writer, have written… that you have blended together to create sentences, paragraphs, pages, stories… inspirations.

 

Because when you share something like that, you share a person. Even if you don’t think you’re in the story you’re writing, you are in it. In fact, you are the story.

 

It is your story. And then, by your good graces, you give it to someone else.

 

Cherish your words. Cherish the words you share with others… but guard them.

 

This is not how I envisioned this piece to end… but then…

 

Who, in all the world, knows where the writer’s story goes?

Edited December 29, 2003 by Merelas

[Aardvark]

It starts with the idea. No, not the idea. Not the idea at all. The.... I don't even know the word for it. Like an idea, but from the right brain, rather than the left brain. The imagination. What is a thought from the imagination called? They don't come as single sentences, paragraphs or pages, all logically lined up and ready to be plotted down on paper for corporate exploitation. A dream? Not really. Dreams play out over a time. This is a thought. A flash of inspiration. One moment, there's nothing. The next, an entire battle, a romance, a final confrontation between mortal nemisises. I couldn't tell you right away exactly what is being said, what the wind feels like, but I know. As clear as a childhood memory.

 

Once I've grasped this... whatever... I must write it down, somewhere. My dilemma is I cannot write. Well, this is not entirely true. I can write. About as legibly as your average 8 year old doctor. But I type almost as fast as I consciously think. So I cannot really put my.... let's just use idea for now, although it doesn't really suit what I'm thinking about.... to paper... or .txt file as it were, unless I have access to a computer. Sometimes these ideas just float away as soon as they strike me, sometimes I can keep them several hours/days until I can type once more.

 

So I sit down and type. The story itself is in my brain, all there. Some say a picture is worth a thousand words, just imagine a picture that isn't one instant in history, but several minutes/hours/centuries. That's what's sitting there, waiting to be told to the world. This is planted on the page. As I type, details just form around the idea. The exact witty one liners, minor characters, subtle details that alter the entire story... wait, where did this come from?

[Peredhil]

For me is it similiar to how Aardvark just described. The Vision, then the lame attempt to somehow transmit it. I'm told I do better in person.

 

I *dream* of having writing as good as an average 8 year old doctor!