Many
writers (myself included) would contend that their jobs are to remain
relatively impoverished while toiling away at something they love. Others might
say that their job is channeling their hearts through their fingers, whittling
away the page until it contains darkened indents the same color as our souls. A
more grandiose writer might say that he is the purveyor of a singular truth,
whether it is personal, political, historical, or satirical; that, deep between
the letters, lays a meaning unperceived to the most superficial reading of the
words. In my least humble of opinions, the previous are just over-complications
of something both intrinsic to deep-seated to every person: a writer is someone
who presents what they know and feel.
What they know and
how they feel is dependent upon years of experience, years of toil, years of
joy, years of sense, or an eon of life. In all this perception, a writer finds
his or her being transcribed into words, but never can these words be
objective. A Nouriel Roubini will never see the economic world the same way as
a Milton Friedman, nor will an Ernest Hemingway perceive the same reality as a
Stephanie Meyer.
In this sense, a
writer then writes their colored reality in the hope that there are those who
share a modicum of that reality. It is the job of the writer to connect with
the reader on a level of understanding that the reader isn’t aware of, to
inform the reader of a perception outside that which they had held.
To speak in less philosophical
or metaphysical terms, a writer, whether he or she is a columnist, an author, a
blogger, et al., is there to create a new contextual lens through which the
reader can view an issue. For example, a person of a moderate political mind
would ideally read positions and ideas from various political ideologies in
order to better understand the panoply of different views that can exist on a
particular issue. The writers from all sides are able to present their
issue-areas through their own understanding of an issue, whether it’s something
as divisive as abortion or something as mundane as whether or not people should
say ‘merry Christmas’ or ‘happy holidays’ during the appropriate time of the
season.
Alternatively, it
is a writer’s job to lie- after all, fiction stories are naught but
entertaining lies. They are fake stories of fake people who only exist because
someone thought that they should exist only in terms of pen and paper. They
tell us nothing explicit about global politics, or current news, or why the
potholes in the street haven’t been fixed yet, etc. etc. etc.
Even these lies,
however, hold some modicum of truth that each person who reads them can
understand. F. Scott Fitzgerald would argue that one cannot live within a
memory and hope to resurrect one’s life as it once was, or Gatsby would do so
for him; Orwell would tell you vehemently that some are more equal than others,
or he would allow Animal Farm to convey that message; Oscar Wilde would say
that the divide between absolute morality and licentious hedonism is blurred,
but Dorian Grey could demonstrate that aptly enough.
A writer’s job
will always be one of subjective honesty, one of truth in story, whether it
comes in a political message, a fictional story, a press release, a piece of
journalism, or whatever the medium may be. There is no absolute definition of
in what form this ‘job’ will take, as many writers would argue that it comes
with not enough money to get a quick burrito; the one absolute is that writing
is a job not easily done, as being honest with both oneself and with others is
never an easy task.
