Tag: inspiration

Why I Write – Part Infinity

Joseph DanteLeave a comment

I’ve written about this plenty of times before, but it’s continuous anyway. I keep coming up with more reasons to give myself. But I suppose that’s a good thing. You need that sometimes. 

Why I write:

To say something. It should be obvious, but you’re surprised by how much you have to remind yourself. You slap down words because there’s something stuck in between your ears: a character, a conversation, a concrete image of sorts. It’s the hard “k” sounds that push themselves in when you’re busy trying to listen to some other music. They cut into you like a thorn and you try to pull them out. It’s cacophony building its way up.

To pray. You don’t believe in a god anymore, but you can’t think of anything more close to the divine and the act of meditation than creating things yourself. It’s ritual, it’s demanding answers from the void. You were once a Catholic, but now you suppose you’re an artist. You wonder if people think you’re more damaged and more ashamed now, ironically, or more helpless.

To kill. You light up the bottle or pull the pin and throw it at the mustached kid’s car. Just like a fist. As the fire flickers, you remember: That one kid who wore his pants down low and asked about your sexual orientation every other day during high school. You kick the giraffe in the testes when he sees your destruction and he wilts like a pansy (you come up with this pun, just like that, and you actually say it to him on your way out).

To heal. You knock on her door and ask her to tell you about the car crash. She finally tells you about what he did, how he hit more than you suspected. How he was exciting, his car flying on the highway and the two of you without seatbelts holding you down, screaming at the night. But she was done. Rolling her eyes, she says she’s done. He was gone and gone for a while now, and she was going to be a phlebotomist. I’m not so squeamish anymore, she says, and apologizes. She’s missed you, and it’s her fault. She wrote to you first, unexpectedly, and that was why you were here. You’d been waiting.

To listen. Your mother tells you about her aunt who believed her husband came back as a cat. Your friend tells you about her first kiss on an airplane with a stranger who read Hemingway. You should be writing this down, she says, and you nod. Your professor tells you how your essay was perfect and she gasps when you tell her you won a short story contest. Everyone else tells you to become a psychologist because you know how to sit still and you remember the right things for them, in the right order. You entertain the idea, but you conclude that you’d rather write about people’s problems than actually deal with the people and the problems themselves.

The Aspiring Writer

Joseph Dante4 Comments

This is a response to Melissa’s post about the case of the “aspiring” writer and the interesting discussion that ensued. Let me know what you think of it.

First off, I do agree with the point made that it devalues the authority of the writer. Especially today, when writers seem to get as little credit as possible (with books being pushed aside by movies, TV, internet, etc.), I really don’t think this is a time for modesty.

I can understand the desire to set goals and establish some parameters for the future. Calling yourself “aspiring” means you have something to work towards—it’s a word that gives young people hope. But how do you gauge these things to begin with? Until your name is in print? Until you make it a profession? Until you get a Pulitzer? How do you measure this out and why would you want to? Does it end up being as productive as you originally thought it would?

Other types of artists don’t seem to have this problem nearly as much. They draw, sculpt, photograph, perform and it doesn’t change anything. Others may see something in them that they don’t at an early age, maybe not. But they are driven to create for themselves, sometimes inexplicably. And they continue to do so.

Maybe this is a huge issue for certain people because it’s personal. Some people are afraid because they’re insecure, they’re not good enough. Some people think it’s too pretentious (“I’m a poet! And you are?!”), or it’s simply too overwhelming without that one certain adjective before it. They can’t handle the authority that I think is so, so absolutely necessary in the year 2011.

I do think, however, that there is a difference between a writer and someone who simply writes. When it comes down to it, it’s all about storytelling. There’s a difference between someone who writes to tell a story (and works at it, for years and years, whether published or just in private) and someone who is merely able to form complete sentences and place them after one another. One is an identity that you define yourself through and the other isn’t.

You don’t have to be published, have a book deal, or make money for it. And you certainly don’t even have to share the words you’ve put down. Was Emily Dickinson a writer only after she died?

I don’t call myself aspiring. I used to, because I once thought it was helpful, but now I don’t.

Setting little goals for yourself is good, but don’t sell yourself short with an adjective. Don’t ironically undermine your own plans with a romanticized, dreamy-eyed promise. You’re a writer if you need to tell a story and you’re always working at it. External validation is nice every once in a while, but you’re a writer (and not “aspiring”) once you’ve realized that it’s not your primary source of motivation. It’s not where you begin. You need it because you need it.