by Susanna
I have recently joined Twitter and signed on to follow various editors, authors, and reviewers. I check it every hour or so to make sure the world is still turning. It flows like a digital river of pop culture commentary. I’m beginning to understand the Native American idea of pictures stealing your soul. I’ve let my soul seep into this social amplifier three sentences or less at a time. Words are judged, or lost, or beaten down, or extolled, or put aside. We are struggling to create new myths, find our heroes, confirm our existence, our superiority, our inferiority, comb through the words for our next savior or fix. Maya Angelou has 900,000 friends. Lady Gaga has 15,000,000. If a certain bestselling author gets 2,000 friends by a particular date, then one of the 2,000 friends can win an autographed copy of his book.
I have a point here. I think. And it’s about writing and art and creation and the quiet volcano inside my head from which it flows.
What am I trying to say?
2 comments:
I think you're trying to capture the paradox of this "quiet volcano" . . . which of course can't be captured. No paradox can.
And also something about taking words seriously. Because words matter. Let's not dribble them out. Let's not weaken them. Honor the river. Honor the flow. Honor the word.
I feel like it's all about pushing your work, shoving it down someone's throat, like writers are no also used car salesmen, or at least, must cop that attitude. I feel it.
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