A writers lament and a reader's lament
I have friends that were great writers, but they write for a living.
I would not suggest that templates is a dirty word in general but it is becoming one to me. I have seen heretofore great writers brought to their knees by the thing. You see the template is designed by techies not writers. Techies that optimize a writing for Search Engine Optimization. They use formula's and quotients. Glory to them.
They use scientific and mathematical quotients and theories. And they take a poem and the change it into and Epic movie. Hooray for them.
Did you know that if you cannot photo shop or figure that out, you are no longer a writer. If you cannot make quizes and game shows appear in your writing then you are no longer a qualified author of anything.
We all have Volcanoes, we all have churches somewhere in our heart.
I understand these things I do are pitiful and should be stopped.
A ten line Haiku is bad, even though it is perfect. An opening paragraph that does not repeat keywords ten times is destined for low scores.
Pictures with no relevance are supported over a pregnant pause or a transitional sentence. Spelling is checked but not for context, just a word that Word knows. Obscure words are threatened. Some four letter words that fit are changed to s**t. The r**pe of a city creates no $.
I do declare that I am complaining. But I cannot complain to publishers Oh No!
And here is the sadness revealed
Publishers give people what they want. People want more pictures and quizzes. They do not want rich content or moving creations. In and out like a tactical team avenging and extracting the quarry.
Most Christians have not read the entire new testament. Most Buddhist cannot cite their founding text, most Muslims cannot quote more than 3 phrases from the Quran. And Lawyers can no longer recite case names and precedent. The President of the United States does not read literature, only contemporary writing, and Nelson Mandela will soon join MLK jr.
Our world is lost. Not because of publishers but because of what the rest of the world wants.
Do we hang our heads in shame as though our work is no longer valid and was always just tolerated?
Andrea and I go way back to a college in Paris
So who dies in this battle and this war.
My father spent a lifetime in public health trying to increase the likely hood of children living to adult hood. He met a guy named Einstein who asked him if his quest was moral. 40 years later my father questioned whether or not he was wrong and wrote me to ask: "Eric we let the hunters thin the herd of Deer so the herd will be more healthy, are we wrong not to allow that with communities of man?". Of course I responded quickly and adamantly: Dad, it is not our call to make. We do our best, nature will defeat us anyway, and man will always find a way to destroy the weak.
And so I tell you my dear readers that the writer's heard is being thinned, who can survive this onslaught? Who can weather this drought of support for creative writing.
Well I can. My writing is more often judged in board rooms and court rooms than on websites and search engines. But that is not the calling for those of us with mission.
The nest of the great Peregrine Falcon is on the left.
Let there be a man who changes my words, and I will show you the master of a slave
Who do we write for. Do we write to be accepted by the masses and adorned in jeweled splendor? Or do we proclaim one master and write so the masses can follow?
And so it is I do lament for each day must be better spent
So I stand and puff my chest and proclaim more sanctimonious than the rest. And then I am reminded to take a big rest, for I have flown to far from the nest.
Icarus was cool but he broke the rule. His dad did weep for the promise he did not keep
So I know my roll in this struggle is different than what I pridefully see me do.
My job, my friends is to love and support you and see you through. An extra ten minutes on writers that just write. A thumbs up and a fan mail and an encouraging word. I am not a writer who could lead, but I can tend to those with wounds that bleed.
I shall endeavor to give more support to those who write to write and speak so that others hear. Those that speak their minds so that thoughts are clear.
I may not be great, but even I have the power to be a great friend, until the end.
(I reckon this is bit of a tribute and a promise to a Texan in a white hat, that wrote from the heart but felt he must move on because of what I here complain about. We miss you Wayne)