When I look at what I do as a writer and the emotions I go through creating my pieces, I find great comparisons to be made to my singer/song writer uncle and my graphic design teacher/painter friend. Too many writers write while ignoring the notion that they might be an artist, as though it doesn’t matter. They suffice to call it a craft. I am given a lot of crap for a slogan I bear without shame or guilt that holds true to this conversation, a slogan that demands our will to make realities manifest. “Do It Intentionally.”
If you write with the same intention that a woodworker has when making a chair for function, your writing will only be seen as an afterthought. In all its glory, it may challenge the heights of a coffee table book or a stack of magazines to give a mind “something to do.” But a woodworker can also make a throne. They can make a place for thinkers, great scientists and philosophers, to ponder stagnation, progression, regression, essentially perception of mankind’s wandering steps through reality.
Writing holds that same majesty, the difference between a jingle on the radio and a life-changing song that demands attention, action, and, mainly, thoughtfulness from the listener.
The difference is intention.
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