The Perfect Wor[l]d - 06
What does being a writer really mean, anyway? Since I am writing, am I considering myself a writer? Do I? Do others? I never asked my partner, if anyone asks him what it is that I am doing, what he says. Does he go for the comfortable and not awkward a therapist or does he fumble something like an artist slash writer ⧿ she is trying to make it ⧿ I really don’t know what she does ⧿ but I love her very much ⧿ please don’t tell her I don’t know ⧿ is this a test kind of reply?
I am a writer. Does it matter if I am not published? I mean, I self-published my books (note: plural). But there is no cheque from a publishing company that validates me as a writer. No one has ever quoted from my books that I know of. No one really knows who I am. No one has ever invited me to talk about my book. No, I am lying. The local library accepted my self-invitation to talk for free and 2 people showed up. My documents do not state, under my picture, ‘profession: writer’.
I do understand the reasoning behind the justification / explanation that anyone who writes is by default a writer. Also, I do accept the emotional craving of recognition because I think “what is the point of making a piece of art if we don’t want to show it to others; what's the point in writing a book if no one reads it”. I personally find frustrating when people tell me that they have bought my book and when I ask them what they think about it, they admit they haven't read it... I am writing to be read! [Grrrrrrr-moment]
And I do have to add that I don’t think that there is anything wrong in wanting and aspiring to be a self-sufficient author, who has an agent and a publisher and can make a living out of their knowledge, expertise, craft and, hopefully, art. Or hanging around with other published and represented writers.
In my journalling for the past 3 years, I have repeatedly written that I want to be a writer as in spending my days writing. This is what I am doing, in some shape or form, now. And this is what I have discovered: it is not enough, this, for me.
I have now added a sense of focus: I am sitting here, every day, writing 2,000 (or thereabout) meaningful words. It is a rough draft every day, which I do not re-read until the time of publishing it online. Julia Cameron, Steven King and Elizabeth Gilbert tell of how writing is the act of listening and transcribing, not the act of talking. Am I talking now, or am I transcribing? I am not so sure. I know that when it flows, I just let it happens. I don’t believe it comes from a mysterious ‘outside’, as in being possessed, or in being a vessel, but I think that it is the real Me who talks, with no conditioning nor filter. I don’t try to be anyone else, but I allow me to be Me, allow the Inner Self to speak. I allow the Eternal Soul to express herself. It is still me, but a ‘higher’ me, if I am allowed the expression. In this sense, yes, writing is revealing. I remember talking to my supervisor once and telling her that sometimes, during sessions with clients, I don’t exactly know what happens: I switch off and someone else, ethereal, all-encompassing, understanding, connected, highly aware and somehow scarily always right, takes over. I don’t know what is said during the sessions, but they are not just counselling sessions anymore: they are allowing a deeper spiritual connection. This, at times, happens to me when I write.
I don’t exactly know what is going to come next, but I am open to reading it. Sometimes I sit, hands on the keyboard, and I ask what it is that I need to know, or to write. And then I type.
If I decide to put my stamp on it, the flow slows down, gets mix-matched with the mundane and earthly distractions (or destructions) and it is a matter of splattering and spitting and starting and stopping as a stalling car. Until an abrupt end. Both the act and its importance, and the accuracy of what we write, are important. Sometimes, playing with words is what I like. Other times the message prevails. Sometimes I like to think about what the reader will think, others I am more interested in the noise of my fingers on the keyboard. I only know that at times the plot I have in mind and jotted down looks perfect on paper, and then no words come out when I set my hands on the laptop.
And this is why I am instead writing a blog entry where this style, rhythm, subject, and vibe are more in tune with who I am now. I don’t know about tomorrow, but I can only write about me writing now. Quoting Henry Miller from Julia Cameron’s suggestion ‘Develop interest in life as you see it; in people, things, literature, music - the world is so rich, simply throbbing with rich treasures, beautiful souls, and interesting people.
This is why I have decided to try and stop looking for a reason behind my different interests hoping that if there were arcane and occult reasonings and hidden and mysterious connections, I would be on a quest to finding out. And by Jove I am! It is just that I have various interests and I see the world through my own eyes and experiences. And this is what I am going to write about.
Maybe my inner need for adventure is reflected also in the style and the words I use.
Oh, I so wish that one day I could be as good as Oriana Fallaci…
© mtomat 2019 - written on 04.07.19 - no reproduction without permission.
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