It is not coincidental that I have as my desired career entry into a room - writing fiction - that has no age barriers hanging over its lintel. I am taking my entire life it seems to find work that doesn't bunch up around my middle, with too-short legs and a crutch-crunch. Luckily, writing is one of those careers with no age barriers, where in fact you get better and lauded as you get older.
Which is good, because I don't think I'm really gonna get the hang of this whole deal until I'm, oh, I dunno, 70, 75, maybe? And even then, even if I start plumbing even the edges of the mystery that is dreaming and drumming out of your depths something that plops out surprising you on its way, you still only ever learn to labour to write this particular book. Beginning the next book, or the next story, takes you back into a state of babyhood once again. That is mysterious and alluring enough to keep me captivated, even though I sit in front of this whole area of creativity slackjawed, feeling like a moron, like a twit, like a nincompoop, a single-cell.
I wish I would be enamoured with something that didn't display your lacks and not-learned-yet bits and needing-to-be-cranked-up bits and cracks and blindnesses quite so obviously to everybody else out in the world (especially now with the advent of such platforms as this one I am writing and you are reading on :) But oh well. There's nothing for it but to plod on.
And the enjoyment - I keep forgetting this - is in the travelling. Not so much in the bookcase full of books you've published. Although hell, who am I kidding to say that I wouldn't want that? Surely part of writing is wanting to share what you have laboured over, to be recompensed so maybe you don't have to do work that drains your soul out through your guts.
But being published may never happen, to me or to you. We may never reach any sorts of pinnacles (and when we get there we may find that the pinnacle doesn't give us as much of a buzz for as long as we'd hoped).
Gotta enjoy the trip. :)
 |
| Hope by Arte Kjara (cc) |
as Hemingway so aptly observed, writing requires us to sit down and bleed all over the page - he so nailed it
ReplyDeletewhat appears to a non-writer as such a genteel occupation, is actually a blood and guts sport
which is why i find creating non-word art such a joy, and why i appreciate the imagery you have shared with us today
It's gorgeous art, isn't it, Kel?
ReplyDeleteI haven't been indulging enough over the past few months in non-word art. A bit of drawing here, a few hours messing with clay. But that cool desire to do it is bubbling up once more.
In those times I really appreciate looking at blogs like yours. And, too, feeling a little bit of jealousy that it *seems* to come so easily to you all the time, whereas I go through phases where I just can't get there. But so good to be inspired by other people, and I love the art you make, Ms Kel :)
I resonate with this post, Sue. Sometimes I feel as though I'm screaming into a maelstrom...but I am the richer for your writing. Thanks for this.
ReplyDeleteBrad
Hey Brad - do you mean you feel as though you're screaming into a maelstrom when you write?
ReplyDelete(Just wondering because ... oh, I ca't remember why now. When I asked you this I wanted to know if you meant specifically in relation to writing or about life in general, because I was going to launch into a giant spiel about how scary this writing thing is, and how completely and utterly bloody pointless it feels sometimes, how totally self-indulgent etc etc on top of feeling like it's, as you say, "screaming into a maelstrom" :)
ReplyDelete