For the first time since M3 was born, I have no energy for a post. If you would like to hear the tale, please, grab a cuppa and snuggle in. The temperature will be dropping soon, so do pick up a blanket.
I am sickened. Oh, aye, I am on the mend physically. What is sick is my heart. At the hands of those I love, those I respect, those about whom I care, those I do not know, those who will never be known.
I reach this place often. Its primary symptom is a wordlessness which is characterized only physically. Inside my head the words are formed. Despite limitations, they are all capable of reaching my hands and becoming a form others can read, celebrate, share, debate, disregard, dismiss or ignore. The disconnection is merely one of self-preservation.
As a writer, holding the words inside can often lead to volatile outcomes. Left alone, they can swirl and coalesce into gut- or heart-wrenching prose and poetry. Sometimes, they fade out against the emotions they are meant to evoke. Once purged, the writer is left more balanced, but the reader is atilt, unsure what the meagre letter formations were meant to convey although certain they have not escaped unchanged.
Many writers make hay on those trapped words by capping them until their energy explodes into a rant. They fume with bluster, vitriol or merely well-timed acerbity. The burst of written flame catches fire to the consciousness of the reader who fans the flame into a raging, consuming fire which spreads.
These writers rarely are noble. They do not serve their words for the better good. Instead, they serve them merely in an attempt to garner attention. Most often the attention they seek is coin of the realm. They are occasionally aligned with the words on a theoretical level, but most often they serve an agenda tainted with avarice.
In their attempt to garner attention, it is unlikely they bother with the audience’s ability to understand the words. Nay, they prefer to intentionally use words knowing their audience will be so moved with emotion as to overlook what is going on behind the curtain. The reader should mistake the avarice of money, fame, social recognition, social change, notoriety and a coveted place in history for a genuine respect for the subject at hand and the reader’s intelligence.
You, dear reader, should overlook the fact the writer has something to gain by your pandering their words. In many cases, this kind of writer has already gotten a benefit in exchange for the words. Sometimes, readers are unaware. Most often they know and are willing to overlook the fact may have tempered the words by fueling the flame with an unwanted source.
Still other writers take advantage. These opportunists are often not looking for a bank draft for their efforts. Many believe they are convicted to write such things. Be it divine calling, righteous indignation, social character or moral turpitude, it is as individual as any other opinion.
Readers of these writers are often of like mind and gladly carry the message to audiences otherwise unwilling or disinterested to hear such words of their own accord. What the writer may or may not intentionally recognize is the spread of the personal agenda is no different than any other form of propaganda which capitalizes on an emotional event, real or imagined.
Without both the reader and the writer, writing fails to exist. Without the ability to strike emotion or action in others through words, writers would cease to exist. Without the ability to read and be affected by the words, the reader would cease to exist. While some of the most voracious readers are writers and vice versa, most often, the two are in a symbiotic state which exists only in a balance which cannot be measured by an outside scale.
Readers seek out the writings of those who cater to not only their more cerebral pursuits, but also their baser instincts. Literature is densely populated with looks into the morally acceptable and the morally repugnant with equity. Over time, the two categories are commingled. Contemporaneously, the two are commingled. In truth, without one, the other ceases to exist.
Comedy and tragedy are a comparative case. While each can stand alone, neither’s greatness is appreciated without the other to stand in stark comparison.
In any symbiotic relationship, both partners carry a responsibility to uphold the relationship on equitable terms. The writer must not exploit the emotions and fallibilities of the reader. Likewise, the reader must be aware of the writer’s motives. Neither is exempt from the reaction to the words.
Words should incite readers to look within themselves by presenting a well-reasoned case and offering the chance for the reader to apply the logic to the world in which both operate. Even when the well-reasoned case is fraught with the writer’s emotional bareness, the shock and provocativeness of such nudity cannot be the only factor on which a reader may be given the choice. Truly, it is merely a choice of My way or the highway.
Most writers are artists. The nudes they paint with words are not intentionally pornography. Readers are mostly seeking enjoyment. They do not expect the words to carry them to a place of future regret. The pursuit of either vocation without the responsibility to apply one’s own principles, logic and emotion in equal measure is tantamount to ceding one’s ability to decide for oneself what is real, what is true, what is right and what is sustainable.
Words may be free to say and write, but each one costs. The writer may have bled it onto the page. The reader may bleed to death reading it. Use caution.
Words are weapons which can protect or destroy. How you use them truly is important.
Have you ever read or heard something which moved you to do something you regret? Have you ever written or said words which hurt someone? Do you know how to be a responsible reader or writer?
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