For the writers, for the artists, for the lovers… how do you face the blank page? How do you reach effortlessly into the pit of desire and pull forth on the joy of creation? How do you start each day?
For the struggle to start is very real… let us face it.
I once heard a writer – I forget who – comment that there is an endless possibility of success if we never finish a work, and – for my mind – this is doubly so if we never start. If we never start we never have to face our own inadequacies, our own deficiencies and desires.
If we never start, then we never have to fail.
And so, each day we wake, we prepare, we sit – and there we find ourselves at the precipice of a moment. Some days we are lucky and step forward without thinking, and we are off, stumbling forth as best we are able, as best as our craft allows. And then other days – at that edge – something else happens.
When something doesn’t amount to much. We have a word for that.
A mute is someone who doesn’t speak, they are mute on the matter, indeed they are mute on every matter.
I mute the television when the ads come on. Likewise, a mute might also mute the television if the phone rang and they wanted to hear what the other person was saying, though in no way could they respond – making their answering the phone somewhat moot.
Written in 1956 The World Jones Made shows some startling insight into a post apocalyptic 1950s America.
It asks a bold question. If a man can see his personal future as if it was his present, then when he acts is it because he decides to do so or because he was fated. What then is man? At the whim of an unrelenting universal nothing, or a driving force against that.