Life is a tale, told by an idiot. I am paraphrasing off course. Everyone should have at least read this little quote once. Dear old Shakespeare. I think he knew there was something going on, as a writer. And just a small disclaimer to the unsuspecting reader, this is just my interpretation of the quote.
This morning, I thought a bit about inspiration. This is probably because of the video I watched this week, Noam Chomsky, Is the man who is tall happy?. I recommend it to anyone who loves writing and thinking alike. It is one of my favorite videos by far. I remember watching it before I had a clear understanding of what the word ‘philosophy’ meant and I was astounded and confused and elated and excited…
I think you see where this is going.
So back to my point. I read through some of my old content that I released on Facebook, and I realized that everything I write was inspired by a woman I would come across. I’d spend some time with her and I would just find myself wanting to write about them. Each one had such specific characteristics that I wanted to somehow capture, so I just started writing.
Some of my more recent ones are all about one woman who has been completely and utterly astonishing. God, that woman is something that cannot be expressed in words. It would be an insult to everything that she is. Yet here I am, entrenched by her mind like a kitten who found a feather in the yard.
The realization was not one for formalities. It came barging through my mind, clear as day, the though arrived I am the idiot telling this tale.
It is a bit deeper than that as well. Now, more than ever, I’m obsessing over why I write. Why anyone does? What is it that makes us succumb to words? That makes it churn inside our minds and manipulate our emotions?
It’s these letters and symbols that form words that represents conscious structures in our minds, of things that we experience in the physical world. Yet, we can’t get enough of them.
“It is a tale.Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,Signifying nothing.”– Shakespeare, W. (1606): Macbeth
I had to ask myself this very hard question. What am I signifying? And for a writer it’s not always your favorite question. Yes, people have complimented me on my content, but does it mean that it meant something, more than nothing? I mean, the stories are just about my feelings toward a women. It really doesn’t add up to me how that could be significant to someone else, a third person observer.
As a very unemotional thinker, I had to delve in and find the emotion to answer my questions. I don’t value emotion much, to be quite honest. So this was a feat I had to accomplish with the cringe factor multiplying in my mind.
And what I found there was a revelation I received rather well.
Yes, my writing may just be “full of sound and fury,” and they may not have any significance attached to it, but there was significance. I found it, attached with a chord and it lead me to my answer. The fact that it means something to someone else, was the significance. Us as writers have to realize that the art we pursue is not about us. Not remotely. It’s about the interaction, the emotion birthed by our audience. It’s how they relate to our content and feel like I did, the first time I watched the previously mentioned video. Elated, astonished, happy, sad, excited, wonderful, hopeful, merciful…the list goes on.
And this was humbling to me. I had the privilege to realize this quite early and hopefully it will keep me grounded. I am merely the vessel who passes on the soul into my work.
And for that i am ever thankful that I can inspire others, as things have inspired me.
I, the fool, will keep telling my tale, but I know now where the significance lie. The tale. It lies with the tail and how the audience perceives it.