Wednesday, 19 January 2011

Thirty Six

Posted by Caffinolic at Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Writers, are, such a private breed. The moment we get acclaim we leave our fellow beings behind. I wish there was a complete amalgamation of every writer in one place - good or bad or simply terrible. But then I suppose it would be difficult to define. Is the extraordinary and enthusiastic letter-writer a writer? Is the one who gives good comments on a survey a writer? Is the gift of gab, informally written that of a good writer? Also the question of discrimination comes up, Who will decide amoral or moral writing?

Recently I was going through this book while my student was answering a question I had given her on Shakespeare and I really liked the way it was structured. As my student is still in Grade 8 she hasn't been told about the different eras in poetry so I had to explain it to her but it also made me wonder. Will our collective work as writers ever occupy such a book - poetry or otherwise? I pity the person who attempts to collect it all. A bit like what happened with Emily Dickinson only this would not be a written, tattered book or a bunch of papers but on the web. Amazing what it could mean...makes one wonder if you're even good enough to be recognized? Or for that matter if its going to cause you to turn in your grave!

3 comments:

vositha on 20 January 2011 15:11 said...

I always wondered emails we send would make us writers! I realised that my effort only tortured those who received them because the mails ended up having about 1000 words! Mission aborted!

Caffinolic on 27 January 2011 19:01 said...

I think they keep the practice alive. Start sending me once a week :) but I demand eloquence! :D

vositha on 29 January 2011 21:22 said...

ha ha :) I sure will, from different corners of the world I hope!

 

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