Failing the Human Experience in Writing
At its core, writing is the art of translating the chaotic essence of the human experience. It involves weaving together its various components into a cohesive and coherent whole that readers can experience, digest, and, most importantly, relate to. No story is truly whole without this element, and there are no mere cardboard boxes that can replace it.
Hello, Timmy! Welcome. Today, we delve into an esoteric aspect of the writing craft, something I fear may become a lost art in the relentless pace of the internet era. It’s a time where maximizing consumption often takes precedence over the pursuit of understanding. Those who seek to grasp the depth of this art are sometimes left behind in the rush for never-ending production.
Timmy, the situation is rather grim, I must admit. Especially when those responsible for translating the human experience seem to have lost touch with their own humanity. They’re so preoccupied with methods, formulas, guarantees, and the illusion of security. I’m not being unfair, Timmy; I’m speaking from personal experience—the depths of insecurity. There are no foolproof formulas, no guarantees, and those who peddle false security are, in my view, some of the most dishonest individuals. It’s all about embracing those insecurities and uncertainties and translating them into words, Timmy, along with all the beautiful aspects of life. Sadly, committees of businessmen and those driven solely by profit won’t ever grasp this.
You see, Timmy, the problem is compounded by the fact that many people go through life without much thought. I’ll steer clear of that rut, Timmy, but it’s essential to acknowledge it because we both inhabit this world.
Why does it matter, you ask? Well, if your audience isn’t thinking, what are you really writing? Just mindless words. That’s what it boils down to, and that’s a lamentable state of affairs. Very lamentable.
You can’t oversimplify the human experience, label it as “good,” or reduce it to its most basic elements and declare it “sufficient.” You can’t just grab any of the empty rhetoric that universities sometimes churn out to justify their existence. The longer you live, Timmy, the more you’ll realize that institutions these days are often nothing more than certificates of safety, not for you, but for those who might employ you. Eventually, you’ll learn that life is built by those who don’t seek permission.
Yet, many have forgotten this truth. Many have lost their understanding, and once something isn’t understood, it is indeed forgotten. I worry for the future of fiction, for the collective work of humanity because most are forgetting. It’s often said that you are what you consume, and life is made up of stories. If the stories you consume are, well, trash, then there will be consequences.
Let these humble words serve as a warning. I’m doing what I can to endure, not to fight; you can’t confront something like this without being consumed by it, as it’s too immense. But in my little corner, with my resolve and with both you, Timmy, and the Neophyte, we’re doing what we can. We’re striving to remember because most will not.
Until next time.
