Writers read. Writers write. Often we do other things as well. Those of us who write for a living (or lack thereof) find the mundane world of “work” appalling indentured servitude and an infringement on the meaning of life (which we struggle to bring to light with our blood-sweated words…).
Words comprise the bulk of our visible work, that is the “tip-of-the-iceberg” view of writing. Words roiling through our heads, voices like some multi-personality’d individual (hey, I know that’s not a word, ok?), all demanding their right to be heard, fall from our brains into our fingertips and make their way into reality whether through the keyboard, pen and paper, or voice recordings, videos, or any other means writers now possess.
Non-writers will quickly go to a “what’s-the-point” attitude. Poor misguided souls. Without us (writers) that movie you watched last night would not exist. Nor your precious reality show (don’t tell me you still believe they are non-scripted…). Nor your news. Nor your advertisements (ok, so that’s a point for the non-writers…). Nor your Hallmark Cards. Nor your “How to…” books. Nor your instruction manuals.
As writers, we cannot care much about what non-writers have to say about our “work.” No amount of explaining will ever quite reach them. We must take up our task and make something happen from nothing – that great “nothing” of life experience, observation, and practice.
Then there are the chores. Clothes. Dishes. Bills. Lawns. Repairs. Errands. Each will take their inappropriate turn at screaming at us for attention. I scan the room around me. A misguided attempt at organization (I know, organized writer = oxymoron…) has papers all over the bed, the floor, the desk, the rocker, the printer… where the hell did all this crap come from? (Don’t answer that. Guilt creeps behind that venture…)
How about the distractions? The daughter in for the holidays all the way from Salt Lake City to Palm Coast Florida who calls and needs a ride right in the middle of writing this. The potential client who wishes to meet on New Year’s Eve simply because he is leaving for New York in less than 48 hours. The headache fluttering into existence along with misty, overcast weather.
When everything is said and done with respect to writing, the world should MASSIVELY appreciate ANYTHING that gets accomplished. I don’t care how bad that movie, TV show, article or book is, the fact the thing even exists defies logic. Why?
Creativity defies logic. Creativity brings things to life from brain farts and belches. Creativity challenges reality. Reality most often passively remains completely bound by logic, until you peek behind the scenes and into psyche’s. That’s what writers do. We look at our pathetically lied-to world and bring out the insane truths, crazy fictions, and a host of other whacked-out notions and place them into other peoples’ heads, hearts, souls.
The undertaking to write always stands as a battle. Did you know writers battle themselves more than anyone else? On the surface this is true, but I tend to look at the battle like this – writers battle the various “you’s” who have shown up in their life telling them what they are attempting is folly. Writers adopt, over time, all the negative reinforcements that squelch creativity. We then undergo a purge of these naysayers and often come out with gestalt-produced works of art.
The point here boils down to this: writers struggle against the inner world of their minds and hearts and the external realm of negative reinforcements, simply to get a single page of writing completed. No matter the perceived quality. No matter the length of time. No matter, even, the content. The simple act of creating becomes a struggle against worlds.
The payoff? We love the process. We love the connection. We love writing OUR truths. We love the passion. We love helping others. We love catharsis. We love the personal therapy of writing. We love the thought that some piece of us will live on after we’re gone. Some point to children, but children are their own “selves” and not quite the same, right?
Our words, our creations, our truths, our lives as we see them splayed in the chaos of the world around us, get to live a little beyond us. Possibly we help someone who tells someone who uses our words to change their world. There remains hope in creativity for a world that was never sane to begin with. There remains hope in writing. Always.
Writers love hope. So writers read other writers. Writers write their truths as they see them. Writers create. Writers, on the whole, garner little respect. We do the tough, quiet work. Others take our work and get the glory (and the cash…). Just remember, without us, your world would become bland, boring, heartless, hopeless, colorless, drudgery.
We bring you life. That’s what we do.