ex·po·sé
An exposure or a revelation of something discreditable.
dis·cred·it·a·ble
Harmful to one's reputation
In an attempt to encourage and support a friend as she considered jumping into the world of online writing, I realized that I was once again attempting to remove the speck out of my brother's eye, when I still needed to remove the beam out of my own.
This thought led me to the further contemplation of my own writing. Yes I am one of those that claims to have a book in the works. Most of the chapters are still in my head, but daily I do at the very least think of the book and have ideas about the book and dream about the book, sometimes even putting pen to paper, or fingers to keyboard and writing parts of the book.
My advice to my friend was to write something everyday, even if it sounds like pure crap. Even if it is pure, smelly crap, a foul running of the mouth (or brain). Do it. You have to. There is no, I am a writer, without writing. There is no, I am a baker, without baking. There is no, I am without being. Which leads to a somewhat troubling (if we allow it to be) idea. Exposing ourselves. But as writers, or those of use who wish to be writers we are, as Allen Ginsberg said, starving hysterical naked. We have to be. We must bare ourselves, turn our thoughts to pixels or scribblings of ink on paper. We must expose ourselves.
That is where the difficulty in writing lies. Whether fact or fiction, what we expose, is every bit a part of us as our hair, our skin, our voice and our feelings. We put our every fiber into our words. We are starving at times. We hunger for the exact words to express that burning idea. That ember of a story. That fragment of a poem. We search hysterically at times for just the right way to say what we are feeling and thinking and then we stand naked, exposed to the reader.
What we write may indeed be harmful to our reputation. Those who hold a certain opinion of us may be swayed and no longer hold us in the same regard. However we are viewed, in order to actually be that which we seek to be we have to expose our thoughts and words to the light of day. We can't hide them under a bushel basket. Or we can. But if we choose to do the latter we are depriving ourselves. Certainly we may deprive the world of some great literary work but more importantly we deprive ourselves of ourselves. If we want to be writers we must write.
So let it be written, so let it be done.
An exposure or a revelation of something discreditable.
dis·cred·it·a·ble
Harmful to one's reputation
In an attempt to encourage and support a friend as she considered jumping into the world of online writing, I realized that I was once again attempting to remove the speck out of my brother's eye, when I still needed to remove the beam out of my own.
This thought led me to the further contemplation of my own writing. Yes I am one of those that claims to have a book in the works. Most of the chapters are still in my head, but daily I do at the very least think of the book and have ideas about the book and dream about the book, sometimes even putting pen to paper, or fingers to keyboard and writing parts of the book.
My advice to my friend was to write something everyday, even if it sounds like pure crap. Even if it is pure, smelly crap, a foul running of the mouth (or brain). Do it. You have to. There is no, I am a writer, without writing. There is no, I am a baker, without baking. There is no, I am without being. Which leads to a somewhat troubling (if we allow it to be) idea. Exposing ourselves. But as writers, or those of use who wish to be writers we are, as Allen Ginsberg said, starving hysterical naked. We have to be. We must bare ourselves, turn our thoughts to pixels or scribblings of ink on paper. We must expose ourselves.
That is where the difficulty in writing lies. Whether fact or fiction, what we expose, is every bit a part of us as our hair, our skin, our voice and our feelings. We put our every fiber into our words. We are starving at times. We hunger for the exact words to express that burning idea. That ember of a story. That fragment of a poem. We search hysterically at times for just the right way to say what we are feeling and thinking and then we stand naked, exposed to the reader.
What we write may indeed be harmful to our reputation. Those who hold a certain opinion of us may be swayed and no longer hold us in the same regard. However we are viewed, in order to actually be that which we seek to be we have to expose our thoughts and words to the light of day. We can't hide them under a bushel basket. Or we can. But if we choose to do the latter we are depriving ourselves. Certainly we may deprive the world of some great literary work but more importantly we deprive ourselves of ourselves. If we want to be writers we must write.
So let it be written, so let it be done.
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