SMonologue #9 – The keys are the key
Monday 21 February 2011 @ 9:07 am

SMonologue #9

Via @amydezellar “I need a locker-room style pep talk about continuing to write. I wonder if @ThatKevinSmith is available to act as coach?”


Writing is the closest any man or woman will ever come to playing God (or a god).

Some will say childbirth, but that’s giving life, not playing God. Some will argue the cruel play at angry gods, but any animal can inflict pain; cruelty is not playing God, it’s playing Man.

Some will point to art or music, but the canvases – while valid & beautiful – are limited to what is heard or what is seen.

Film? I’m living proof that even chimps can make cinema if there’s enough talent to back it up; and the talent is never in the individual anyway, it’s in the group effort of many filmmakers – cast and crew – aiding the one in telling his or her story. I love film; it has given me everything I have today. But even filmmaking is not playing God.

Only writing – amongst not only all the arts, but amongst all of humanity’s waking endeavors – allows we mere mortals a true taste of all-encompassing creation along the lines of that which God (or a god; or a god-like energy from which the universe sprang) knew or knows.

You sit down with a blank page (let’s be honest: a blank screen) and you create a universe. You fashion a world. You populate it with whimsies and desires. You make the world the way you feel it oughta be. And you don’t have to show a single image to convey your creation to others: just words. The more you share it, the more your fiction becomes a reality – a reality that can even manifest itself in that most unimaginative and over-valued currency: cold, hard cash.

But for any writer, money is never the motivator: it’s that crushing need to get that story/blog/script/poem off your chest onto someone else’s mind. A writer doesn’t need motivation because a writer can never shut it off.

When you write, you are as a god – or even the God. Who needs motivation for that? You wanna enjoy the perks of godhood without some jackass nailing you to a cross? Go write something. Right now. Stop reading me.












They gone? Those “writers”?


I thought we’d never get rid of ‘em, the artsy-fartsy fucks.

Okay: lemme tell ya ’bout my wife’s ass…


If this was helpful at all, say thanks by buying a ticket to RED STATE in a city near you!


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