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I think it's fair to assume, this being a forum devoted to literature, that we all love good books. But some of us, probably most of us, feel compelled to create works of our own, however small or private they may be.
Why do you think this is? What is the difference that causes some to read a good book and simply appreciate it, and others to read a good book, appreciate it, and feel inspired to create?
it is my belief that every single book ever to be written is already out there, just waiting for a fertile mind to bring it into reality. the more you read, the more you comprehend, the more you grow mentally, until you reach the point where simple reaction to input in form of literature no longer fulfills your needs in that request. So, as a superior form of reaction, you create something yourself.
Because art is one of the very few things that distinguishes us from other animals. I personally believe art evolved out of an intrinsic desire to emulate the divine - by engaging in the act of creation, we mirror the deities we imagine in their primary function. I think it is no coincidence that the most famous people of any age tend to be its artists.
Extremely interesting insight.Quote:
Originally Posted by Lokasenna
I'm not so sure I agree. But anyway, here is a description of me in the middle of creating rather than offering reasons why... I will consider the reasons and post a response later.
My Bluebird - (A typical night of writing): despair in searching for ideas facing writer's block which usually comes just in the middle of a night's work when all seemed to be running smoothly; the frustration in attempting to execute those ideas; the drinking due to working alone on terrible ideas, badly reviewed ideas, rewrites, deadlines, colleaques writing better or more entertaining works, the almost nerve-shattered compulsive laughing at the stupidity of the dialogue written as though it were a story dating from about the 1800's in Ireland; late nights with red eyes and the endless streams of smoke coming from a shoulder-slouched body that looks like a volcano waiting to errupt; the heart palpitations, and doubts, about the (nicotine and caffeine induced shaking) hands producing this talentless crap and wondering if the local school could use a new janitor!... the closest position in education available because you finished up college after the degree and two additional years of creative writing assuming that you're going to be the next Charles Bukowski or Hunter S. Thompson; Gay Talese or Tom Wolfe. "Steady job... steady job, (regular pay), get a steady job - buy things!" running train-like through the mind -
First Voice: They all went through it.
Second Voice: Who?
Fist Voice: All the greats. The GREAT WRITERS: Joyce, Proust, Beckett...
Second Voice: Maybe I'll go down to the employment office tomorrow...?
First Voice: I wouldn't bother. Not if I were you!
Second Voice: Why not? ("Need a job... steady job, find work - good pay - buy things.")
First Voice: You can't do anything and besides you're too bloody lazy - look at the time!
You'll be 65yrs in another minute. "GET ON WITH IT!"
Second Voice: I need a drink.
First Voice: So do I. I knew there was a bukowski in there.
"F*** it! Another cigarette, walk a bit... "where's the wall gone? -OUCH!! Browse the internet, find forums: others going through similar issues... nothing better than a bit of mindless procrastination to while the hours until around six in the morning: I'm off to bed - GOODNIGHT!"
I hope there aren't too many of my deities going though this craze nightly! lol.
I don't know if this will always be true for me, I've had many reasons over the years, but I'm responding when I create. My wife came back from a trip recently and I could do nothing but hug and kiss her; when I write, after being inspired by a certain piece of literature, it is a hug and a kiss to the text.:ladysman:Quote:
Originally Posted by Lumiere
It's fun.
For me, writing as a means of creating, is a way of organising my thoughts, to give the havoc some form... very useful:rolleyes:
When I first started writing and for a few years afterwards, the main reason I wrote was for self-expression; I wanted to express something or express myself. Then I began going through a formal phase where I imitated a number of writers and experimented with different forms and dreamed of being famous. Finally, I reached the stage where I realized that the purpose and reason for writing was to express something about the human condition that was of value. It took me about twenty years to realize why I should write and what I should write.
In my years at school I was not an obediant student. In fact, I refused to do most of the school work. I was a bad student. The result, by luck, was detention and a large English dictionary which I had to write out word for word into my school copy. Anyone might imagine that doing the such three and four times a week would cause a revulsion to seeking an occupation which involved words, but nothing could be further from the truth:
I was very young when I started writing. I began by imitating authors that I was reading at the time: J. R. R. Tolkien and Edgar Allen Poe were two of those writers and Rimbaud was another. I used to sit for long periods of time patiently copying passages from the works of those authors verbatim. I done this alot with the letters of Rimbaud - I don't know why...? I do know before all this began, through no choice of my own, (as described above), that I had grown a flair, a love or an affinity with the learning of words; I remember a feeling - and a feeling still consistent to this day - that increasing my vocabulary and putting these words into everyday usage gives a certain edge, a confidence - call it what you will - to the speaker and that most others found it and still find it somewhat intimidting. I remember asking myself the question: "where is the best execution of these words to be found?" and of course the obvious answer was literature in all its varieties, and so I began with the abovementioned authors. Of course, the three authors whom I have listed all come along with some degree of magic in their life and work. Tolkien's work has magic and myth; needless to mention Poe's fascination with horror and the supernatural; Rimbaud wrote with an "alchemy of words" in mind. To a young mind, all this was considerably impressionable and I imagine that by some strange turn of events, I associated words with magic, with power, with mystery, with seclusion or a type of clinical isolation where all around me could be understood. I associated words with gaining a greater understanding or developing a more superior knowledge. But it was a knowledge desirous of texts that others usually could not nor did not want to learn. Poems, the French language and the ghastly chants of occultists became a favourite for learrning. I think that I still find in language - in words - a semblance of this magic. I like to think on authors as magicians - the pen becomes a wand; their meaning and words - a spell; their vision a prophecy. (DUMP THE LAPTOPS!! lol) I look on language as a receptacle for meaning that good writers are able to control, contort and execute in fabulous ways to produce great works of art; a language that I am still trying to gain some level of control over through a similar execution in order to acquire, interpret, re-interpret, organise and imagine possibilities as passionately, but as objectively as possible, probable truths of the human condition: behavoiurs and sensations, actions and consequences of such actions all bundled-up, packaged, and tied with the long blood-red ribbon of imagination. I write to learn, to know or understand. I believe writers work below the surface: perhaps not as far down in the earth as Edgar Allan Poe; nor as removed from the earth as J. R. R. Tolkien; and certainly not in so prophetic a manner as Rimbaud - but down far enough to SEE.
Good question. Why do we, humans, have an ongoing urge to create? As Lokasenna said, art is a vast intellectual space between human and animal that makes us differ from other beings of nature. We live in a world of constant chain reactions that started long ago, these problems surround us like a spider's thick web of memories and desires, long forgotten.Those in their mind that wanted to change our world, felt the power of the word, and started their papery paths, sometimes misunderstood, sometimes regarded as genius, the voices of their time. Other people had the need to write about the never ending boundaries of the human mind, our psychology and movements, our feelings, be it hatred our love. All of these needs, written on countless pages, are passed on to us and seeing them, we ask ourselves: "Should I mark my name on the statue with countless names that came before me and be, even if forgotten, another one of the seekers of truth and justice that roamed quietly on our planet?" Writing, in other words, is the expressing of the human mind which is quite natural, because, as we know it ourselves, humans search for the nothingness, for the light and the dark, for the expanding of unknown knowledge, for the solved curiosities of our unique world.
I am not sure why I write anything down. It is a relatively new phenomenon for me, and not entirely pleasant. Poems, phrases, and short pieces have always occurred to me, but with no accompanying desire to see them in print before me. I think that my memory is becoming more tenuous and perhaps it is an attempt to hold on to those passing thoughts, before they are forever lost to me. As to why I post these ramblings, that is another matter. I have no delusions that any of them have any artistic value that is worthy of preservation. It may be that it is an attempt to organize them in a way that is meaningful to me. I just can't suss out a purpose for any of it though.
Lumiere- I think it's fair to assume, this being a forum devoted to literature, that we all love good books. But some of us, probably most of us, feel compelled to create works of our own, however small or private they may be.
Why do you think this is? What is the difference that causes some to read a good book and simply appreciate it, and others to read a good book, appreciate it, and feel inspired to create?
MGL- it is my belief that every single book ever to be written is already out there, just waiting for a fertile mind to bring it into reality. the more you read, the more you comprehend, the more you grow mentally, until you reach the point where simple reaction to input in form of literature no longer fulfills your needs in that request. So, as a superior form of reaction, you create something yourself.
Lokasenna- Because art is one of the very few things that distinguishes us from other animals. I personally believe art evolved out of an intrinsic desire to emulate the divine - by engaging in the act of creation, we mirror the deities we imagine in their primary function.
There may be a degree of truth to all of these ideas... but I wonder whether they touch upon the initial basic urge to create. The obsession with the appreciation and study of any given art and the creation of the same may be closely related... but not the same. There are certainly any number of scholars and academics who rarely write poetry, paint paintings, compose concertos... in spite of being deeply passionate about those art forms... and in many cases, even more experienced in the field than many artists. I will venture to suggest that I, JBI, and certainly Harold Bloom may be as well read or far more so than many of the authors we most admire. Yet we all lack the ability... perhaps the desire... to create (although JBI is still quite young, so who can say?). I think that Lokasenna's idea that the desire to create... perhaps to even imagine that which does not now exist... is what raises mankind above other animals and places him upon the level of God is a noble concept... perhaps one which keeps the struggling artist focused upon his or art when no one seems to take notice... when he or she is wracked by doubt... but again, I question whether this touches upon the initial impulse to create. From my experience as a visual artist there are those who appreciate art... who put forth a great deal of effort into the study of art... and there are those who are fascinated with drawing... with lines... with color... with the way one color plays against another... with the look and the feel and the smell of oil paint... or egg tempera... or clay... with images and illusions... etc... I somewhat suspect that the initial impulse of the writer is quite similar: an obsession with playing with words... with story-telling... with verbal images and symbols and metaphors. I have higher reasons for creating... for painting: a desire to engage in the great dialog of art... a desire for self-expression... a belief I might have something to say... a belief I might actually be good at it... a desire to recreate the world as I see fit... but ultimately it is an obsession... something I love... something I cannot do without.
Beautifully put :) I feel the same way. Writing is a response. A response to literature, a response to the world around us. It let's us get the ideas out of our heads, whether we share them with millions, just a few, or only ourselves.Quote:
Originally Posted by NickAdams
I think everyone right express their views on any literature (the arts) films,books, arts so it help other person to understand topic also show they theirselves understand subject.
I personal start written 15 trs just peoms, then few yrs to communicate with my parnter because only could give him listen and understand me.
I have just start written, my style is self express, to help work through issues whether mental, emotion and I need to get out of my system.
The only way I know is through written.
My style be is not to everyone to views but it work for me and open any guidance or help or that offer suggest anyone can.