Post by account_disabled on Dec 27, 2023 4:46:09 GMT 1
WriteYou don't choose to become writers. There is a predisposition to creativity and mastery of language, of course, but one writes because one feels the need to give vent to the fruits of one's receptivity. The writer becomes an entity saturated with information, ideas and projects, which have formed and matured in his mind and, as soon as they are ready, as soon as they have formed into clear and well-defined concepts, they have had to be poured onto paper, to leave free the mind to welcome and develop other ideas. Once upon a time there were minstrels, singers who went around gathering information on battles and characters and then created more or less truthful songs around them, delighting the people with music and words.
They were artists, first of all, people who had a natural gift for music and words and put it at the service of others. Storytellers told stories of fantastic and dark events around a fireplace, sometimes in Special Data one inn, sometimes in another. They had an audience that gathered around them every evening to listen to the stories they told. They were people who travelled, who kept in mind what they saw and heard and kept it in their memory to then use it at the right time, to earn something or just for their pastime. Today those who write do the same: collect information, listen and see and memorize. It has its own audience, small or large it doesn't matter.
What matters is having an audience, even if it is made up of just one person it is always worthy of respect: there is someone who is spending their time to read what an ordinary stranger has written. If you no longer gather in an inn, but publish writings on paper and on the web, the essence of the discussion does not change: you are still storytellers and singers, artists who put what they have managed to create at the service of the public. The writer has a personal and moral duty: personal because his nature requires him to write, to put on paper, to fix forever what his mind has produced with the data he has accumulated over a certain period of time; moral because the fruit of his creativity cannot be left forgotten, in the shadows, but must be given to the community for its good and pleasure.
They were artists, first of all, people who had a natural gift for music and words and put it at the service of others. Storytellers told stories of fantastic and dark events around a fireplace, sometimes in Special Data one inn, sometimes in another. They had an audience that gathered around them every evening to listen to the stories they told. They were people who travelled, who kept in mind what they saw and heard and kept it in their memory to then use it at the right time, to earn something or just for their pastime. Today those who write do the same: collect information, listen and see and memorize. It has its own audience, small or large it doesn't matter.
What matters is having an audience, even if it is made up of just one person it is always worthy of respect: there is someone who is spending their time to read what an ordinary stranger has written. If you no longer gather in an inn, but publish writings on paper and on the web, the essence of the discussion does not change: you are still storytellers and singers, artists who put what they have managed to create at the service of the public. The writer has a personal and moral duty: personal because his nature requires him to write, to put on paper, to fix forever what his mind has produced with the data he has accumulated over a certain period of time; moral because the fruit of his creativity cannot be left forgotten, in the shadows, but must be given to the community for its good and pleasure.