eva, Michael,
the idea that writing is learning is, to me, constrained.
writing is creating. that we cannot, or do not, recognize it as such,
doesn't change the significance of the process.
publishing has changed the value of writing, to be sure, such that any
"writer" needs to be 'published' in order to qualify as a writer -
as a writer, prior to this catastrophic foray into insecure
intellectualisms,
i recall that experience of discovery while writing - the reality that
meaning changes in text, that what i SAY - READ - WRITE - all represent
alternate contexts of language for most; such that the question becomes
NOT what do you believe but to what can you commit?
i have to admit, the more institutionally-skilled i became in language,
the more critical that question seemed.
in the end, i had to choose writing: it's what i do. and 'acceptance' and
to what can i commit? words= i can commit to words, but in actions -
eeesh. a very messy thing.
what goes on, as we sit and wonder about the cost of cable, is global
atrocity.
to pick a 'popular' country and say their rapes and murders are _worse_
than the rapes and murders that take place here, next door, every day...
well, i'd reckon Noam Chomsky (" Manufacturing Consent") would have lots
to say.
writing is READING and reading is learning, and learning is letting go of
what you thought might have been true. in my experience, academics write
to substantiate what they KNOW to be true: not to learn what might be
possible,
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
In 1950, William Faulkner won the Nobel Prize for Literature. In his
speech, he reveals a passion for his convictions. Addressing the young
writers of his time, men and women, Faulkner advises a return to the
“…problems of the human heart in conflict with itself…” and states,
He must teach himself that the basest of all things is to be afraid; and
teaching himself that, forget it, forever, leaving no room in his workshop
for anything but the old verities and truths of the heart, not universal
truths lacking which any story is ephemeral and doomed love and honor and
pity and pride and compassion and sacrifice. Until he does so, he labors
under a curse. He writes not of love but of lust, of defeats in which
nobody loses anything of value, of victories without hope and, worst of
all, without pity or compassion.
(quoted in Cowley, 723-724)
*********************************
diane celia hodges
Diane_Hodges@ceo.cudenver.edu
hodgesdiane@hotmail.com
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