Writers write…

We all carry around a little bit of pretentiousness. When I was a much younger lad I carried around a cartload of it. In fact I reveled in my pretenses. I hoisted them above me like a battle flag, always ready to go to the wall to defend my silliness.

These days I’m mostly bereft of pretenses (apart from an over-abundance of five dollar words in my vocabulary). About the only pretense I still hold onto is that I’m a writer. Do I get paid to write? No, I do not. And recently I was talking to someone about my writing and he asked me where I’d been published. I was dumbstruck by that. I haven’t had anything published in the traditional sense in a few years. So, am I still a writer? Yes. Yes I am.

Like the headline says, “writers write.” It’s not about what happens to the writing after it’s done, it’s about the process and the production of the written word. If you feel yourself compelled to write and you do it, you’re a writer.

Of course when you don’t write anything for weeks you do start to wonder.

Personally, I’m not inspired to do much of anything that requires creativity when I’m not feeling like I’m really on my game. Lately life has been much less pleasant than I’d prefer. Without going into tedious detail I’ve been ill again. It’s a relapse of the problems that knocked me on my ass a year and a half or so ago. And that’s colored my mood a lot. I’d dare say it’s made me a miserable person to not only be around, but to be.

I’m beginning to feel a bit like Job. If I believed in a deity of some kind at all I’d almost think I was being picked on at some sort of upper management level of the universe. And you know, the thing is, I do believe that if there were higher powers playing us like pieces on some cosmic game board that scenarios like this, where some universal board of directors is sitting around a big galactic table figuring out ways to screw with people, would probably happen all the time. See, I’ve sat in board rooms hear on terra firma and the powerful really are just that petty and mean.

Think about it. Why wouldn’t they be? Why is it that we assume that the powerful are above the same petty spitefulness and meanspiritedness that those of us on the lower rungs of the ladder are all too familiar with in our own lives? Just look at Dick Cheney’s “go fuck yourself” outburst on the Senate floor a few weeks back. Why is he supposed to be above losing his temper? I don’t like Dick Cheney, but I’m willing to bet that the Senator who provoked that comment probably asked for it but good.

This is a big part of the reason I don’t buy into, specifically, the Judeo/Christian/Muslim view of divinity at all. If we are created in the image of God that means God is pretty much just like us. And the evidence, in the form the various scriptures on which these religions are based, bears out the resemblance. God is vengeful, jealous, and well, frankly, pretty random. Yikes. Who needs that? Isn’t the world enough of a mess without the potential for God reaching down from the heavens to randomly fuck with people on a whim? Human beings are horrible enough to one another without us also needing to worry about some cosmic bully randomly intervening in our lives. Screw that.

It would, however, be a little comforting to know that my tribulations of the last couple years were the result of cosmic pranksterism. I might even get a good laugh out of it.

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