You, the Writer (Part 3)-A A +A
Saturday, November 2, 2013
LET this serve as a conclusion or summary of sorts to this three-part exploration of you as a writer.
Perhaps this repetition will show that the same thoughts can be written in many ways, and therefore recreated and perceived as something that’s newly born.
I cannot promise that this will be the last part, though.
I am not sure.
Perhaps you will find some order in the following thoughts.
We shall see.
In writing, we stand on bridge-like middle spaces, and flow like rivers with the currents beneath the earth, towards the vastness of oceans.
Why, there is no end to it really, and no limits, to the writing pulse that beats constantly.
You write because you are many persons, living many lives in many places, all at once.
You write to allow the smallest voices such as your own a space in this world. You write because of and for transformation.
You are transformed by words mainly because of the things they cannot fully express.
You write knowing that your words are borrowed, always incomplete.
Yet it is the very striving and the seeking for words that draws you to writing.
It is important for you to choose well and wisely the words that will appear on the page.
Often, you will feel most alive when you are grappling with a single sentence, knowing that if you do not give up, it will come–that precise combination of words that will not only say what you want to say but also silence the restless dissatisfaction within your heart.
You write from that middle space between who you are not and who you can be.
You are determined, constructed, interpellated, “written” by your world.
Every day, you read the texts in your life.
These readings are in your writings, in the many truths that you have imagined, the same “truths” that continue to shape and reshape the voice/s in your written texts.
Sometimes, you come upon a truth in your writing, but knowing that it is but one among many, you continue your seeking, you keep on writing.
Honesty, in the deepest sense, is required–the honesty of knowing that memory will always be fallible, that the truth that is sought and sometimes found will always be relative and contingent, and that at the end of each writing, many other truths remain beyond the page, not to be discovered as something that is fixed and permanent, but to be engaged in through the imagination as something that is alive and mobile.
You must have the courage to reveal what one writer calls as one’s “daring, darting flights of thought,” opinions, prejudices; to show the struggle that arises from remembering and writing about the past that continues to shape the present; to allow the present to make an impact on the past through the act of writing; to know that there will never be enough words to say what you want to say, never enough certainty about what you really want to express, never enough of your forever incomplete and stumbling self, even after the last word has been written.
It is this suffering that the reader is drawn to, and is able to relate with at the deepest level.
In the end, writing is never just a private, personal thing.
It is always about how you inhabit this world that connects you with another.
Always, both you and your reader are transformed, magically, through words.
Such is the writer’s path – or plight.
You must dare to tread between the lines, to die after each thought, to seek the light at the end, an end that is never certain until the very last word has been written and rewritten a thousand times over.
Published in the Sun.Star Cagayan de Oro newspaper on November 02, 2013.