Personality of the Written Word

Sometimes writing can be very pleasant. Sometimes it’s just easy. But other times I just want to go out and experience rather than contrive meaning from every single cultural encounter. It is like a chaperoned tour, or a trip with too many people. It is a claustrophobic feeling, trying to fit your ideas, insight and ethnic revelation onto a small, white page. It would mean taking a photo of a person and saying, this is him. This is all he is, he is here. He looks like this, he stands this way, and this is him. But after the flash he moves along, into another place and another pose as time ticks on. And this new place, this new smile or phrase or response is also him. And this process continues for many years, shifting him. Changing and growing him. And we say that old photograph, peeling at the edges, faded in color, that this is him. The same man that once was, is still.

This place is not an aged photo. It brings forth life, not death. It has seen, heard, felt and known so much more. It is different than before, but others insist on saying it is the same, or if changed, only slightly. It is a tragedy, to claim this picture as what will stand for all eternity.

While writing can be a joy, it creates only a photo. A new story must be written, to document what has been taking place under the surface all this time. A new story has been welling up, forming, being prepared for its second encounter with the writer. It is the written that shows growth, where he came from, what this landscape used to say. And now, I write a new story. It is a story of adventure, of calm, controversy, creation. It is written. And it will be written.