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Your Name Here (ecs1@keene.edu)
Tue, 24 Mar 1998 15:53:23 -0500 (EST)
On The Subject of writing and its inherent romanticism.
The only question to determine whether you're a writer or not is why are
you writing? And then, do you want to?
Charles Bukowski is probably the only writer that ever literally wrote to
survive and maintained his honesty. Meanwhile, for the writers of the
world, (by no means all) there seems to be a lot of the attraction of
writing one's life away and feeling ever so self-important as a result.
In High School I dabbled in the area of writing and got the English Teacher
Taking Me Aside from every English teacher I had besides one, who told me that
the phrase "amplified silence" could not be used in fiction because it
was impossible to amplify silence. Notably, I didn't quite mind that he
didn't like my style. I very actively persued the life of a writer, as you
said, the life of a "professional child." In the same light as Godot,
I also came to the realization (freshman year in college) that there was
nothing else in life I could do aside from wanton creation and concepts.
These are both things you don't get much money for.
But I went for it anyway. My Freshman English professor told me that I
didn't need to attend her classes anymore because I could probably teach
them. I was a "writer."
The question at that point though was whether or not I wanted to be. It
strikes me, in hindsight, as how remarkably I had always been protected
from misinterpretation. Its actually quite a terrible thing when you
write a poem about the "blind people" and how much you love them and hate
them at the same time, only to have someone turn around and call you a
mysoginist. Aside from that, there is also a point for redundancy; in my
case, the things I truly loved could no longer become merely subjects for
poems, it seemed that if you make something beautiful out of something
beautiful, you cheapen its original beauty. It struck me as horrendous and
disgusting, as well as terribly pretentious, to take the beauty of life
and actually attempt to duplicate it in a well-structured form. Seymour
said it best, as usual: "The Human Language Conspires To Desecrate
Everything On Earth."
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