At the moment, I’m feeling less than inspirational due to a Double Whammy, make that Quintuple: I’ve had to go off caffeine; I’m blocked from my medicinal walking due to a badly bruised left knee; I have seasonal affective disorder; the freaking American “holidays” have thudded down on us; and – this might be the worst – I had to replace my word processing program and it makes changes without consulting me. I’m thinking about creating a bumper sticker: Tech, Leave Me Alone.
Cowboy Benez, the noble tabby, does his best to cheer me up, but since that usually involves cat hooliganism, it doesn’t have the effect he intends. Crash. Thud. Shatter. (Maybe that is what he intends…)
I find myself muttering the words I often challenge when my students say or write them: “What is the point of writing?” I think of the near-infinite universe of the Internet and the infinite number of words it carries. How many more times can there be a lyrical description of a sunset? How many more confessions of crazed childhoods are enough? How many more deft metaphors do we need?
Minus caffeine, I had written “daft metaphors”, but caught it in time.
I feel a responsibility to answer the question: ”What is the point of writing?” But I feel a greater responsibility not to. I can only answer for myself, but only you know your answer to that question.
So, my sister and brother writers, “What is the point of writing?” I’m not going to beg you to respond, though I’m tempted to because only a few of you ever do. I do understand that you may well be caught up in holidaymania – it is nearly impossible to resist the obscene onslaught of encouragement to give, give, give – make that buy, buy, buy. But, I ask you to consider that it may be your writing which/who needs your devotion. Only you know the answer to that.
Feel free to use this prompt: Dear writing (or Feared writing or both), What do you want from me?
I am going to use that prompt. I’ll publish the results in the next Breakthrough. Meanwhile, the light outside the trailer window is gray-green, When I step outside and take a long slow breath, I taste Autumn’s departure. There is delicate rain on my face. I am able to go slowly down the steps and out to the glistening road. I wish I could tell you that all of that was enough, but I am human. Perhaps you understand.
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