Monday, November 14, 2005

The Human Soul?

Journal 13-1

“The writer is the engineer of the human soul.” -Joseph Stalin

...I don't like that word; "engineer." Not with "human soul" right next to it. I always think of industry, black smoke, metal, and ugly things with engineer. Just mechanical non-feeling things.

But in a way, I suppose. People always tend to look to artists and those in "artistic" fields to be the tellers of soul. We search for the words and emotions, artists (such as painters and sculptors) search for visual or 3D styles and emotions. Not that emotion is the essential part of soul.

In Writing Down the Bones there's a part where Goldberg mentions that writers are a bit dumb - but only for the reason that people around us think so. For example, I'll be outside and stare at a crimson, autumn leaf and admire all its darker veins, the fact that it's not green anymore, what makes it different from the others, and as a whole, the sheer beauty of it all. My friend Sandra, well, she would just think I'm weird, give me a "You're weird" look, and move on. I'm not saying that writers are the only ones to appreciate certain things, but there are times when we just look at the world around us with different eyes, keener eyes, eyes that look for the little things, details others might miss. Once on a writer's crawl on the quad I noticed a praying mantis, the poor thing was flattened on the sidewalk. Dozens of people never noticed - I wonder if anyone else ever did. The world is our stage - we use it and write about it even if we're not writing about it directly. All things, human and not, are utilized. I write fantasy, but I take things from my reality and change them into something else for people to fall into.

But really, we can only do so much. We can see and hear the Light and Sound, but we can't always touch it. Heheh. We can only make somewhat educated guesses and go from there. We do our best and others look to us for that best. I can only give you so much of my soul, and maybe some of yours, but in the end you've got to do your own looking. Besides, that little sparkle is so far beyond a page with tiny symbols - words can only go so far. The rest is something else.

Currently: Ugh, It's Just One of Those Days.

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