One of my favorite writers has the odd distinction of being incredibly lauded and immensely obscure individuals outside their field. This is especially odd given how litigious he is, and how often his ideas appear in the public consciousness. He also has written two of the most reprinted stories in the English language, and I’d wager you haven’t heard of either; “I Have No Mouth and I Must Scream” and “’Repent Harlequin!’ said the Ticktockman”.
See? I knew you hadn’t heard of Harlan Ellison. And if you have, I’m wondering why I didn’t see you at the convention. We had the twelve party hats, but most weren’t used and pizza got cold. But moving on.
The reason I bring all of this up is because of something he said about writing, which was “A person who writes is on a long journey and he or she is saying ‘Here is where I am today and here is what this place looks like today’”. Of course, this doesn’t quite translate into essay writing, except in the most literal sense: Today I went to class, the room was small and mostly empty, with myself sitting conspicuously in the very center of the room while my class mates hugged the margins. Even in that more metaphoric sense of where my thoughts have been, we encounter problems. My blog entries aren’t entirely divorced from that quote, but I find that they are more based upon opinions than anything else, and in looking back it has not been a journey of vistas but of interiors.
It’s like an expedition into a cavern, and I am still barely past the entrance, slowly climbing down a wall of slick stone a hand reaching out, hoping there is another handhold. It might be some time before one reaches the vast interiors of the place. But it is a journey, and today I pause and look down into the oblivion of my writing. Because this is where I am today, and this is what that place looks like.
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