Writing…a craft of the restless. It’s the routine of a distinct people; a people of thought and of the many voices unheard – the voices of a dogmatic diary of creative thought and diligent investigation. A meticulous undertaking to relay fixed ideas to all those who dare to indulge in the organization of letters on a page. A lonely craft; a hermits enchantment.
Authors leave behind them a legacy of themselves for others to swim in the thoughts of their leisure. Some stories are those of fantasy and others are of relation. Some tales are those of intrigue yet others are of education. Some are facts of the past and others are of predictions for the future. Of all the writings of the author with the burdened tasks of stimulating your mind, they are all in the interest of others.
An author is anyone with a voice and a message that they want to be heard or understood. Some writer’s transition to speaking on the things that most consumes them, and others are comfortable with being unknown. A few write only for gain, but most write because it is in their nature to create, to educate, to inform, to satisfy those that enjoy the creative journey. Most writers are unknown and under-appreciated. But without the written word where would we be?
I’ve realized that I have things to say so in that regard, I am proud to be a writer, but it is truly a lonely craft. A craft best suited for the restless mind. A craft reserved for those with a knack for presenting information in ways that make men thirst for more. We all read, but have you ever acknowledged those that write what you read? Everyone is a writer (believe it or not), because everyone has a story to tell. The difference between you and people that are proficient with the written word is only discipline, organization and an understanding of the written word. I’ve spoken with many people who wish they could publish a book. I’ve met people who swear they have a best selling story to divulge. Their lives are truly worth a look, but they fail to put their epic tales on paper. My mom used to say that the richest place on earth is the graveyard. She implied that it’s so rich because of all the songs not heard, the stories not told, the inventions not brought to market, the creativity that died with every soul that’s passed on. Everyone has the ability to put their story on paper, but fails to realize the importance of leaving a story for others. The human condition requires that we record our triumphs and our errors so others can benefit from our experiences.
Is inheritance money or wealth? In part yes, but a blueprint or a story or diary of experiences can prove more valuable than monetary gain. Writers…the cornerstone of civilized society. I am proud to be part of this undervalued cult. I write because I have things to say to the masses. I write because I have been blessed with wisdom, knowledge, creativity and an understanding that one day I will perish. I consider myself a wordsmith, but by no means do I consider myself an expert. I am a jack of many trades, but a master of none. I write because I am here in my home, right now, alone. I have a motivation to impart a piece of myself to others, but no one is close enough to hear. I understand that if I don’t release these things, then I will lose my own peace and fester these things until I capture an ear willing to prosper in the things that are imparted to them. Restlessness is a curse of the blessed; a burden of the people endowed with wisdom, knowledge, understanding and creativity.
The average man cannot handle the weight of the writer. We are officed with the ability to understand knowledge, to dissect information for truth, to create wonderful escapes of grandeur, to present ideas in a way best understood by the masses, a prolific understanding of the human condition and a direct understanding of the human heart. I used to loathe having this gift, in some ways I still do. For in much wisdom is much grief; he that increases in knowledge also increases in sorrow. Ecc 1:18
If you understand this proverb, then you understand the writer’s plight. We are the voice of one crying in the wilderness. Mark 1:3
Those writers best at promoting their words have their stories heard and profit from their readership and popularity. Those of us that lack in this area, fall into the dreaded writers abyss, yet we press on. Writers are misunderstood, thought strange, ridiculed, yet admired by those that wish they had the discipline to organize their thoughts on paper.
I am a writer, and I write mostly for me, but…earnestly for you. I can’t leave this earth knowing that I have been endowed with a gift that if taken seriously can help the masses. If I had a platform I would speak, but until then I write. This is the one thing that I can leave behind. My children, my children’s children and many other generations can benefit from the words that I leave behind. They can know me intimately once I am gone – not only them, but you as well. All those that dare to absorb my words; all those that dare to follow my character; all those that see the light I dare to shine. I have found my calling and it is the edification of mankind. To show love because I understand that love is an action not just words. I am to let my light shine any way I can. This I do because I also understand what gives me joy. I have been lucky enough to discover my purpose and choose to operate in it. My family, peers and coworkers may not ever understand, but I don’t care. If you ever find out what gives you joy you wouldn’t either. I don’t even consider myself a good writer, I’d argue if I were even an average writer. I don’t even like to write if truth be told, but I know that I have revelations inside of me that need to be released and if I don’t, I lose sleep. It is 3:28am on a Saturday night and I am here speaking to you.
I write for you and for my own sanity. I must release these things, even if they are on paper. I’ve learned things that almost made me give up on mankind. I tried to love people, but I suffered their abuse. They used me, and mistook my generosity for weakness. I allowed it for some time but I realized that I cant love others without first loving myself. I have so much to say…and I wish I had a willing vessel to deposit this living water. But people judge the source and disregard the message. Some hear the message but don’t heed the words. Some know the truth of the message but wont listen. Writing…such a hermits craft.