When beginning to write a portion of a certain chapter about Augustus (an escaped rat from the National Institutes of Health) I researched the history of animal experiments done at the facility, and at the same time I came across You Tube videos of rat experiments.
What I both read and viewed were extremely disturbing and only added more fuel and emotion to the chapter. In this portion of the chapter, Augustus recalls the time both he and his true love were imprisoned at NIH, and in vivid detail he remembers the atrocities done to her while he was made to watch. I cried as I wrote a majority of this piece, wondering how, as a species that we call "human", could we be so utterly inhumane.
I've tried to communicate with other writers over the years....tried to reach out and make friends... but it seems like we are a damned quirky bunch. Some writers become neurotic, others arrogant and still others completely afraid to expose their minds and naked musings to peers who might understand or worse critique the words on the page.
Approval from others is nice I suppose, though I've always done my own creative writing for one person...and that is me. In all honesty, I believe the writing isn't really so much created "by me" as much as it invades my "self", possesses my body, mind and soul and screams to be released from my itchy fingertips. There is a story inside me that simply threatens to pass the breaking point of every sane neuron in my misty gray matter. It keeps me from sleep and causes me to dream during daylight hours, until I take time to write it down . But I digress.
Back to writers being a quirky bunch....
A curious person searching for "writers" and "writing groups" on the web and perhaps finding meet-ups in local townships, will discover a montage of would be authors who claim they desire company of other writers, who voice an interest in becoming their friends and sharing time. What I often find is a huge number of individuals with either a desire to have their meager literary work poured over and praised, or a number of socializing wanna-be's who don't have an inkling of how to write...and who frequently hope that REAL writers will appear and rub poetic/ creative pixie dust onto their novice brows.
As I have said before, and will say again: "Life is a societal bubble. It is time to take the pen and pop it."
Writers get writing. Readers, take time to read. Wanna-bes, either learn the craft, or get out of the inkwell. There are others who are waiting their turn at drowning.
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