My last blog was a reaction to a statement about how writers often find publishing and its terms to be at the mercy of agents and publishing houses. Of course, its struck a chord with me. I find being beholden to anything that objectifies my creativity to the point of enslavement to be well – unsavory.
Just a few comments from fellow writers about how one’s soul does not need to be in the transaction, and this time, on this site, the optimism came from the commentators. I love that. I am hopelessly romantic and unavoidably shrewd, so I am in frequent discomfort. After at least one other lifetime I recall as a writer, these issues are beyond disconcerting. However, I do find governing solace and sanctuary in the quietest places in me, and so I go there to find the ways my mind and heart have reconciled – and those places are where the stories, concepts, and insights linger. Getting to those places can be difficult for any of us, and yet, that is where the magic springs out of nothingness, to find its way to page and screen.
It’s true that to be a writer who contributes, one needs to live in both places – the alleys of the shrewd and caustic, the soiled and sparse – and the magical and transformed, the infinite and optimized. In this way, it seems to me that we transform all sorts of things: concepts, perceptions, fears, and longings – in our readers and viewers.
@DavidLNewhoff just sent me a Tweet that says that “All writers have baggage”, in reply to a little chat we were having about the shoot of his upcoming film project. I think that’s true, and may be that all artists compelled to create, do. Our unresolved concepts, perceptions, fears, and longings find voice – and in this way we are transformed.