Postmodern

Writing will always feel like a strange paradoxical venture to me because you’re supposed to curate your thoughts and words to establish an image, a style, an angle, a niche, fit into a genre, or take into account an audience, but not so much that you compromise with yourself, just enough.
Doesn’t that make writing inherently inauthentic, deceitful?
Or at least, incomplete? Perhaps dual? Every word, sentence, stanza or paragraph tinged with both presence and absence, permanence and transience, openness and confinement, revealing and concealing?
Writing is about the world inside and the world outside, about an appreciation of them, about the connection between them, about reducing the space between self and other.
It carries a compromise between subjectivity and objectivity, between an understanding and a lack of understanding; because every mind functions somewhat differently, every consciousness having a different set-up due to nature and nurture.
And yet, with increasing (especially spiritual) awareness comes the realisation we are all both different and alike.
Perhaps writers are aware of the limitation and power of language the most, followed by psychologists.
I have an infinite fondness for the postmodernists and the beautifully unhinged nature of their work, their literary and psychological fragmentation
Sometimes I see or feel characters and I incorporate what they represent, I give them a voice, in doing that, I give myself a voice- and vice-versa- by integrating them within my self.
This is sometimes exhausting.
It’s also bewildering, cathartic, empowering, a blessing and a curse.

When I write, I know nothing and I know everything.
How avant-garde.

One comment

  1. Paul says:

    Diana, this is an amazing post. Writing as an inner-outer construct has always intrigued me. Like you, I’m fascinated with the post-modern thought. Hey, a lot better than those whiney modernists! 🙂 I believe any writer who truly wants to communicate an idea or an image must deal with language as a medium that never holds still. I remember a professor once telling me that she thought Emily Dickinson’s dashes were where Dickinson’s poetry resided, where meaning could be found, those spaces between the words. I still think that’s a fascinating idea. Our task as writers is to narrow that space perhaps as we sit and commit to writing, the outer world, those ideas whirling about in our minds, the inner world.

    Thank you for sharing and apologies for my taking so long to respond. I’m still thinking about this post! 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

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