I recently picked up a book by a popular author that I had, up until that moment, avoided. Something about the covers, overly bright and slightly out of focus, as well as the writer's website, which was somehow both apologetic and condescending, turned me away from their work. I will confess that even the popularity itself made me uncomfortable in my jealousy. But obviously the writer knew something that I did not, so I picked up their first novel and was disappointed to find that I could see the plot laid out before me by the third chapter. Worse yet was the exertion involved in the writer's attempt to be unique, bleeding through every sentence. How could something so loved be so transparent? Should the reader be comforted in knowing what was ahead or was I somehow tuned into the writer more than the character that traipsed blindly through her creator's plan?
I was ready to give up and turn to another author to learn from, when I saw it; an image I had used in my own writing staring up at me. It was a well known concept and it had been used in a different manner than my own. But still, there it was and I hadn't put it there. How could my own unique voice somehow not be mine alone?
From that moment I had to know everything about the writer.
We grew up on different sides of the country and our education was worlds apart, literally and figuratively. They had more connections, more opportunities and an easy to market hook for readers. We were nothing alike. Yet as I read of their experience, motivation and theories on writing I realized that being a writer isn't just about who you are at the moment but who you wish to be. The writing isn't just a reflection of yourself as you are now but the expression of what you are trying to become. While no two writers can be exactly alike, perhaps they both can be striving for the same ideal.
No comments:
Post a Comment