The writer and her skill. Something of that sort.
While English is a versatile and rich language, suited to the needs of the common man and the literary connoisseur all at once, we find that it still has a core character consisting of... what the hell, let me stop pretending. I have no inkling on how to write. So please give me some time and space to "develop". That is what you, dear blog, have been doing for me. As long as a person is in her early tweens and has not an idea what moves and shakes her, even if she happens to have heard that rock'n'roll isn't noise pollution, she is useless to the world of literature, that is to say invisible. No fame. No name. Just help her get going with her life, then settle her to some idea she likes and then boom. Watch her rise. Watch her increase in audience, good reviews and readership. However, there is a little step towards this dream that must be undertaken by her personally, nobody else, painstakingly and critically. She needs to collect her weapons. Meaning, her vocabulary and her general knowledge. And her maturity. And her sense of humour. Well, a few kilograms of fat cells and laziness here and there cannot hurt her either. You get the drift, the poor girl needs to grow some more. Allow her to do it, and may I remind you that nobody is forcing you to read her blog. You are reading it out of free choice.
Then finally someday far off in the future, the probability of the following scenario will no longer be negligible: The hand that once spared no effort in sharpening its pen will begin to chisel at a solid sculpture. The sculpture will create itself through the practiced hand, assume shape and life under the seemingly effortless, intuitive guidance of the sculptor, of its own accord, almost how the hand dealt to an experienced bridge player reaches its full potential when bid properly. The hand will have become the tool, prepared enough to conceive and express what lies within or without the access of its owner. Language will marry content, and style will marry import. I'm looking forward to writing my masterpiece, someday, somewhere.
While English is a versatile and rich language, suited to the needs of the common man and the literary connoisseur all at once, we find that it still has a core character consisting of... what the hell, let me stop pretending. I have no inkling on how to write. So please give me some time and space to "develop". That is what you, dear blog, have been doing for me. As long as a person is in her early tweens and has not an idea what moves and shakes her, even if she happens to have heard that rock'n'roll isn't noise pollution, she is useless to the world of literature, that is to say invisible. No fame. No name. Just help her get going with her life, then settle her to some idea she likes and then boom. Watch her rise. Watch her increase in audience, good reviews and readership. However, there is a little step towards this dream that must be undertaken by her personally, nobody else, painstakingly and critically. She needs to collect her weapons. Meaning, her vocabulary and her general knowledge. And her maturity. And her sense of humour. Well, a few kilograms of fat cells and laziness here and there cannot hurt her either. You get the drift, the poor girl needs to grow some more. Allow her to do it, and may I remind you that nobody is forcing you to read her blog. You are reading it out of free choice.
Then finally someday far off in the future, the probability of the following scenario will no longer be negligible: The hand that once spared no effort in sharpening its pen will begin to chisel at a solid sculpture. The sculpture will create itself through the practiced hand, assume shape and life under the seemingly effortless, intuitive guidance of the sculptor, of its own accord, almost how the hand dealt to an experienced bridge player reaches its full potential when bid properly. The hand will have become the tool, prepared enough to conceive and express what lies within or without the access of its owner. Language will marry content, and style will marry import. I'm looking forward to writing my masterpiece, someday, somewhere.
