Tag: writing

Stylistically, a lot is tolerated; but this habit of hiding what is being said, of intentionally complicating the simple, is only tolerated if the effort of interpretation rewards; otherwise, the author can only irritate. And the worst thing is to see the number of examples of this practice, which for some passes for merit, as if saying something obliquely were saying it creatively. It is pitiful. The same language, sublimated by the greats, becomes a refuge for those who have nothing to say.

In literature, it is after having invested hours and hours of effort over many years that one reaches the ideal level of commitment. Before that, one is driven more by a motivation that, however great or small, if it ceases, will interrupt the development of the vocation. After this stage, the writer is always faced with a monstrous work that has already been completed. There is no turning back, what is done is done, and what is needed is simply to carry on.

The relationship between some writers and their illness is difficult to explain. A normal person, without the slightest discomfort, can find all the excuses he needs not to write. If he suffers from an illness, there is nothing to say. So we see not one, not two, but many writers who have not only persevered with their illness for months, years or a lifetime, but who have made the illness itself a source of motivation. This is no small feat, and it is not easy to imagine. There are illnesses that one never gets used to, but it seems that these are the ones that trap you and leave you with no other option.

Some writer once made the wise recommendation: one work at a time. And there is no doubt that concentrating the mind on a single piece of work can only speed it up, intensify it and be of great benefit to creation. But is it possible to stick to this rule? Perhaps with prose. With poetry, however, the situation changes, and when the planned verses exceed a few hundred, the mind seems to beg for an escape valve into which it can pour lines and lines and experience the relief of fluidity. Without this valve, soon the unproductivity, added to the ideas that accumulate in a closed deposit, begin to torture. For the poet, practicing prose seems psychologically essential.