Almost a year and a half ago I sat in front of this screen and pleaded for an unknown but familiar energy to move my fingers through the keyboard to begin writing. It worked like I knew it would.
I sat here and began the process of talking in my head, and then simply writing it down: think, write, think, write. I accustomed myself to the thought of seeing the writer in me emerge like it always has after what some may describe as a ritual: my plea to a god (in the latter case, Paz) in the form in which I needed to do. It's appropriate, as doing the plea involves the presence of the energy that I want the presence of.
It's a nice, illogical, but powerful circle that can't be defined, but somehow it works. I don't remember how it started to work, or how did I began understanding it. I'm pretty sure even now that I don't know how it works, but as with any rituals, it is not the inner mechanisms that we care about, but of their products; still, my rationale tempted me.
It's been long since I really delved into this being, into this ability again. However, this time, I'm frightful. My fear stems from not knowing what do I become when I write, is it me who is writing or is it this energy? And then I start to wonder if I'm the right vessel for such energy.
I read from others and sit in awe of their wondrous mastery over the word, and realise that I'm not a writer. I obviously don't think like one. The structure of my essays can't stand the rigour in which an essay needs to be written with. My stories don't hold the intense sway that I've read in others'. And the technique with which I write has been extensively criticised by superiors and colleagues as being plain "not good".
Still, I wonder: do these other writers, with their structural essays, swaying stories, "good" writing, have similar rituals as I do? Maybe not in the same manner as mine (a thought that not only saves their sane stature, but also my out-of-ordinary reputation), but with at least the same intent. They must have; even seeing a blank piece of paper (or word-processor screen) and imagining what to write about may be enough for this energy to come onto them. If this true, then an interesting concept creeps up:
Is it them who are writing or is it this energy? And then I start to wonder if they're the right vessel for such energy. The only difference between me and them in this respect would be my poetic attempts to make something more out of the seemingly ordinary event of starting to write something long. Nice little thought, but I won't go into it too much: I know I'm not a writer, I don't feel like writing everyday (thus, the rituals) and it is usually more what I say then what I write that feels more, you know, me.
Still, writers have always being mythical figures. They record history, communicate wisdom as well as help misinformation tactics, and even wind up being considered artists in the process. Of all the things that were considered historically significant in the last century, can you remember one that wasn't adhered to an impressive speech or important quote? And yet, borrowing a bit from a great writer/comedian (Lewis Black), to become a writer the only thing you need to do is to say "I am a writer" and you're done. Oh, and by his accounts, you also need to be full of shit.
As I'm staring at the end of this piece it has occurred to me that this is in fact the ritual that I just described (this time it was Lewis Black, who knew?), and, as I already know that I'm full of shit, there is only one thing left:
I AM A WRITER... so let it begin (hope Mr. Black was right).
EDIT: I tend to avoid editing a post after publishing it, unless I find some grammar mistakes or I know of something afterwards that needs to be added to the post. This is the latter. I just heard from Lewis Black in an interview:
If you want to write, sit down and start writing; that's what a writer is. Even if you're not writing anything of importance. Uhmm... THAT DOESN'T MEAN BLOGGING. Doesn't mean blogging. I don't care, it doesn't fuck count to me. It doesn't, [...] I get so upset by it I don't even... I really literally cannot form an opinion because when I say the word I just get enraged. It sounds like something... it sounds like fatty tissue. "I was doing very well, until I got this blog."
For those of you, like me, who doesn't know what fatty tissue is: it's the lump on the side of women's breast that signifies possible breast cancer. Here is the interview.
My opinion? I just laughed hysterically for about two minutes.