So, my Dear Readers, you may wish to counter my hypothesis “There Can Never Be a Yesterday” by trusting in the past. Yet, wasn’t it just a moment ago that what each of us experienced became our yesterday? Did you, in that moment, remember how it felt or tasted or what it taught?
Maybe we humankind, like the lyrics in the Beatles song “Yesterday” must believe in our days gone by.
And, YES, the past embraces where we’ve been and tomorrow holds the hope of where we’re going. But existence itself can never be more than this moment.
For example: At the time I post this blog MY moment will be in yesterday’s memory. Yours, however, will be in the moment you read it. See what I mean?
Library means a collection in the truest sense of that word: the printed and the people kind you’ll find in your hometown public library. Regrettably, some people know nothing of libraries, public or otherwise, because they are denied access to such splendor.
Public libraries smell of ink and dust covers and titles and tomes and antiquity. There is connectivity when a small boy asks a librarian: “Where are the dinosaur books?” Young girls, well they mostly pick a title printed in a light lavender color.
Some readers may remember The Music Manwhen a group of busy-body town ladies share with Professor Harold Hill that Marian the Librarian advocates dirty books. All important, and in turn, they spit out… “Chaucer!” “Rabelais!” “Balzac!” (Song: “Pick-a-Little, Talk-a-Little”). In a different scene that takes place in the Library, Professor Hill sings to Marian: “…it’s a long-lost cause I could never win, for the civilized world that accepts as an unforgivable sin, any talking out loud with any librarian…” But, that was then and this is now.
I have a question: Do computers and iPads/Kindles and social media and a fast-moving society hinder the illumination of the local public library in your hometown? Pause… What if we climb aboard that bandwagon too quickly? Because, in all actuality, public libraries may be the last bastion to access, freely, our confidential choice of whatever we choose to read.
Every writer, regardless of genre, comes to life when a voice from the ether of silence whispers, “I need you.” Some writers hear a phrase or see a billboard and ask: “How can I utilize that in my next editorial piece?” A child screams with joy or fear and we ask why? Some of us read a book and steal (all right, borrow) a phrase or a character trait. We wrestle with a word until it either floats away or comes fully to form.
So, why do we write, exactly? I think it’s a need in the form of a want that begins the journey. And, it is the creative, in all its forms, that force us to declare: “Here I go!” I love this last phrase because I never know where “…go” will take me. That path is the responsibility of the words swirling and forming in my head that direct my fingers onto a keyboard.
In order to edify myself, and you if you so choose, I searched the thesaurus for the word WRITER. There are over sixty-seven words listed that describe us. Here are a few less familiar monikers: abstracter; compiler; cyberpunk; diarist; gagster; ghost; librettist; litterateur; pamphleteer; polemist; scenarist; tragedian, and word-painter.
The last name on the list, word-painter, I believe describes us, perfectly. For we no more and no less than any artist, meticulously pick our canvas and paint our narrative in order to capture the mind’s eye of our readers.