Why Write?
November 1st 2006 13:17
Why Write?
That's the question I was asked early on in my quest for a diploma in Professional Writing and Editing.
The thing is that I started writing maybe eight or ten years earlier. Mostly articles about building and solar power.
My first article was, well, a disaster. The editor re-wrote it. He had to and I don't blame him. But the point is that he thought story was worth the rewrite. When I saw the difference I knew that I would have to improve my skills base. I did the best I could. I accepted all criticism with a brave heart.
Then I had a chance to get my diploma. On the first day of class
"Why Write" was the question.
My answer.
The Boy
Once upon a time there was a boy who was very creative
He lived at a time when children
had imagination
As he grew up times changed and the boy was told
he should be more serious,
go to college,
get a job
He was told that art was ok,
but only as
a hobby
He was told that only those
with a college education
could get a job
The boy did not believe
what he was told
became a welder
It was work, it paid the bills
it was creative
Over the years the boy tried many things
He did sculpture and leather work
but never sandals
or hand bags
People said that’s nice but can you
make a living from it?
The boy did not care
The boy made jewellery, hats, clothing and furniture
He made life
interesting
The boy’s life went on and over the years
the boy created
many things.
He created two children
with imaginations.
This should be enough
he thought
But the children grew up
left home
The boy created a house
another life and
new dreams
He kept putting one foot
in front of
the other
The boy knew that he had
somewhere to go
but not the road He followed the road anyway
It twisted and turned back
on itself
Often passing the same place
time and again
The boy had to keep going because the road
was in front
of him
There was no road behind
Onward forward
No returning
For a while the boy thought
that he created
the road
Then he thought that the road
created him
Nobody asked what
the road
thought
The boy decided that he
created the road
that created him
with every step
The boy created grey hair and age
He created aches and pains
He created his life
But it was not enough
The boy had
more to give
more to create
The sun comes up
The boy gets up as well
Feet on the road
Create the day
But the boy wants more
The boy has things to say
Worlds to create
Worlds to create him
So much to do
So much unsaid
Words fail him
No!
Words flail him
drive him
create him
The boy
must
write
G Ghio, 2003
That's the question I was asked early on in my quest for a diploma in Professional Writing and Editing.
The thing is that I started writing maybe eight or ten years earlier. Mostly articles about building and solar power.
My first article was, well, a disaster. The editor re-wrote it. He had to and I don't blame him. But the point is that he thought story was worth the rewrite. When I saw the difference I knew that I would have to improve my skills base. I did the best I could. I accepted all criticism with a brave heart.
Then I had a chance to get my diploma. On the first day of class
My answer.
The Boy
Once upon a time there was a boy who was very creative
He lived at a time when children
had imagination
As he grew up times changed and the boy was told
he should be more serious,
go to college,
get a job
He was told that art was ok,
but only as
a hobby
He was told that only those
with a college education
could get a job
The boy did not believe
what he was told
became a welder
It was work, it paid the bills
it was creative
Over the years the boy tried many things
He did sculpture and leather work
but never sandals
or hand bags
People said that’s nice but can you
make a living from it?
The boy did not care
The boy made jewellery, hats, clothing and furniture
He made life
interesting
The boy’s life went on and over the years
the boy created
many things.
He created two children
with imaginations.
This should be enough
he thought
But the children grew up
left home
The boy created a house
another life and
new dreams
He kept putting one foot
in front of
the other
The boy knew that he had
somewhere to go
but not the road He followed the road anyway
It twisted and turned back
on itself
Often passing the same place
time and again
The boy had to keep going because the road
was in front
of him
There was no road behind
Onward forward
No returning
For a while the boy thought
that he created
the road
Then he thought that the road
created him
Nobody asked what
the road
thought
The boy decided that he
created the road
that created him
with every step
The boy created grey hair and age
He created aches and pains
He created his life
But it was not enough
The boy had
more to give
more to create
The sun comes up
The boy gets up as well
Feet on the road
Create the day
But the boy wants more
The boy has things to say
Worlds to create
Worlds to create him
So much to do
So much unsaid
Words fail him
No!
Words flail him
drive him
create him
The boy
must
write
G Ghio, 2003
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Hi George,
I love this post. My favourite.
K.L.