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Friday, 30 August 2013

My Ode to The final Days of the respected Art Therein

Writing is a sacred art of conveying words into their proper place and meaning. Simply put to a suggestive thought of how honing our craft of wielding the pen and putting a cascade of incoherent thoughts into a sense of readable content that is perceived by people in an individual point of view. The general idea of writing as a means of supporting ones daily meager existence has always been a great dilemma for all “real” writers, and frankly the emergence of the Internet has made the dilemma even more resounding than ever.

The emergence of so called on-line writing employments had further put a strangle hold on a
writer's credible disposition regarding to their constituted skills and means of a quantitative and meaningful way of imparting a quality filled literary work. Writing was “never” meant to be a lucrative endeavor in its original intended way of somehow divulging an honest message in light of the author's insights and impressions of how we perceive the world around us. The present state that the Internet has made the purist approach to writing somehow vulgar and demeaning as to adjust with the present demand for the craft itself.

Today, writing has been reduced to a bargained  petty flea market like commodity under the
employ of people that need real good writers to facilitate in endowing their own personal interest such as to effectively convey a point regardless of any social importance if ever so. As a writer, I am deeply saddened with such an outcome that it feels like a compromise from putting real essence and quality to a body of work and trying to cope up with the haunting reality that “I need to pay the bills”. Thus a compromise must be made and most of us who truly regard writing as our life are forced to accept this present state in which we must follow suit in order to survive.

“Prostituted” in a way, such a vulgar impertinent gesture to define a once highly revered art form almost as comparative to that of painting. There is no parallel joy that a writer can have than that of a well recognized  distinction of authoring a work in which transverses the boundaries of social and economical standings among fellow human beings. A compensated recognized work that the readers understand regardless of any social inclination beyond personal beliefs and any form of reactive sentiment towards opinionated matters of stark proportions are truly the real achievements of a well crafted writer.

Writing in a way, churns social opinion and stirs the hearts and minds of men to which in their own terms of understanding find a small part of the humanity that makes them what they are amongst the words that a writer tries rationally to impart without siding on any matters that will eventually favour one end of the subject matter at hand. Today's social norms exploits the writer's wit in manipulating words to favour interests other than that of ones own opinion therefore making the irk of traditional purists shake in response in a silent way, with disapproval with the way writing had been used in a rather pungent manner.

Everyday, a writer's struggle to come up with words to feed his soul with original ideas and
emotions are now being paralleled by automation to try to come to par with the writer's natural sense of discernment of his own choosing by shuffling and rearranging words that try to emulate a sense of rationality, hoping that it makes sense to the human mind. The emergence of the “spin robots” that try to manipulate a simple body of literature and re-construct it to make it seem that it was a different article, has put the writer's work in peril. It all seems to be a convenient way to nudge off the necessity of  needing the services of a writer in the sense of being economically convenient.

But by far, I have had the opportunity to have witnessed the capabilities of these so called “spin robots” and if I may say so, they don't even come as near as close to the work of a real writer, thank goodness for that. There seems to be hope yet, as the need for real writers still exists and can still be put to good use even though writers nowadays are put to a less meaningful use and an even less sense of importance. Only a few talented writers remain in this world of ours as though they can be considered as a dying breed of artisans, being replaced by more convenient means and in such a manner, tarnishing the gleaming brilliance of the soulful meaning to the word “writer”.

Who would have thought that automation, in its early conception would have eventually come to the aide of a writer's plight in honing the craft to eventually give an adequate ease as a writer's tool, would turn against the writer in a threatening manner as to slowly render the art of writing to become a dwindling necessity. To some of us that have continued to struggle beyond such trying times, we advocate our skills to the needs of people who recognize the importance of a fairly surviving craft of wordplay, to which we find the inspiration to continue to write and we will not surrender to these “convenient social norms” regarding on what we do best.

Death of the old ways of writing seems eminent and there is no way to avoid that. All left is the love for the clamor  of the old ways of writing as that which can persuade our intellect. If this will be the last gasp of the calling to all adherent writers in the world, let me just say that the new generation will never see the true beauty of the pristine form of writing. It has been my utmost pleasure to have written such a deliverance of the old ways which the future generation will ever hear of such calling, as such as the final words of Shakespeare, Hemingway would have gone without resilience. 

Good bye old world, for it is my greatest debt and gratitude to have known the beauty of the simplicity of your splendour. A tear felt joy to the ages past as it glistens to the harrowing cries of misfortune...Good bye to the golden age of writing..I will miss you so dearly

                  "A heartfelt thanks to all of my literary heroes, I will miss you so dearly"

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