Sometimes I am not a writer.
Despite the common misconception that many have that a writer is someone who “writes”, this is quite untrue. There is more that constitutes a writer than just the act of putting paper to pen. For some people writing is a spiritual expedition, one in which the worlds they create are more than just a figment of imagination but friends, cohorts, the voices in side their heads if I may. Borrowing Sidney Sheldon’s words:
“A blank piece of paper is God’s way of telling us how hard it is to be God.”
Writing is becoming God and creating matter out of thin air. I learned in Physics (and it might be the only thing I learned) that matter cannot be created or destroyed and yet writers defy that rule. I am a writer when I am creating more than ink on paper, more than black pixels on a computer screen. I am a creator of people, feelings, and moments that are more real to some people than their own lives.
And as a writer, I break down barriers and flout social rules and shed light on the shadows of humanity.
But sometimes I fall short. Sometimes my first draft is something that I use to mop up the spilled coffee on my table, something that I’d have to beg a dog to eat.
But I get back up. I pick up my pen, and I become a little bit closer to God.
The following a three poems that I feel come unreasonably close to describing the unique experience of writers everywhere:
“Teaching Apes to Write Poems” by James Tate
“Beware: Do Not Read This poem” by Ishmael Reed
“Oatmeal” by Galway Kinnell
--Stephanie Thompson, Public Relations & Marketing