Wordsmith spins kaleidoscope web
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Letter to Editor
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Every day I deal with words. They surround me like a halo spiraling onto the page and into the minds of readers.
Sometimes the words don’t come easily and on many occasions I encounter a writer’s block that strips me of my greatest gift and my greatest joy.
I almost wish it were easy to step away from the block, to end the highwayman heist of my inner sense of wonder that spills onto the page.
What does a writer do when the words don’t come anymore? What does a writer do when part of their soul is ripped away and trapped in the cobweb corners of their mind?
How do they communicate with a voice that doesn’t speak – a voice that only echoes shadows and illusions of consciousness onto the page?
When our greatest gift is robbed from us do we wither and become a dictionary’s companion?
No, we improvise.
Writers become their second persona – the technical thinker. They spin the tale that gets the job done but doesn’t necessarily entertain the reader. But without the spirit of creation, cages form on the page keeping the reader distant and uninterested. Mediocrity traps the writer’s mind into compartments of facts. Facts that become sleepwalking fingers skimming the black-smeared text delivered to the reader’s door.
A journalist’s world is a kaleidoscope of facts derived from the lips of many. A web of phone calls and missed messages mixed with the chaos of the hidden that needs to be understood.
The dark unknown must be explored. The dark unknown must be probed. But is there enough time to give everyone the full spectrum of what the story entails? Are there enough hours? Enough hours to peer into the truth and translate it into the news that everyone seeks?
A journalist’s world is that one story that sparks the dream of feeling. A story so powerful the urge to tell it is overwhelming. These are the stories that resuscitate the hollow hole that facts create in a writer’s soul. These are the stories of life that everyone can enter and relate to. These are your stories – your words taken from the hearts of others but with universal understanding.
Sometimes I wish there was a quick solution to unblock a writer’s mind. If I wore a white-checkered dress and ran down a rabbit hole would I find the answer? If only it was that simple.
Words are sometimes tombstone specters dying on the edges of your mind. Ghostly dreams haunting the peripherals of consciousness that flee when touched.
Words are the clock hands of life, revolving around the world and invading the lives of everyone. Their power is everywhere. Turn on the TV and the crafted string of words created by the advertiser assaults you. Surf the web and have the blogger’s thoughts invade with their tirade on the celebrity gossip or the cause they are championing. Turn the corner and feel the slap of teenage conversation or the harsh glare of billboard enticements. Walk to the bus stop and encounter the smoky remnants of last night’s hit TV episode.
Words are a map of human evolution charting the values of our society. Words are a dream where the past meets the present.
reporter3@nanaimobulletin.com
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