This is a recording of the personal essay I wrote in my English class. It talks about the frustrations I see in writing, however, it isn't all negative, my closing sentiment is of the beauty of writing. This was made in Garageband, and the two images used in it are taken from my self-portrait diptych.
Verbalism Perfection
The blank, unhelpful page; the flashing, taunting cursor. Writer's block - although that would suggest that this problem is new, that there was some period of productivity before it. Gotta check the news on Yahoo, Lindsay Lohan's new tattoo? Better read it.
Back to the paper... This affliction has always affected me. It sprouts not from a lack of ideas, or things to write about, but from a severe case of verbal perfectionism. And how can an idea be put into perfect words? It can't, it's the intrinsically impossible property of non-formalized (without very simple and straightforward axiomatic reasoning) language. And this bugs me to no end.
It always sounds perfect in my head. I know it's cliche, but it really does. Fantastically free ideas with no verbal boundaries, only partly worded out. The spaces, lacking words, instead filled with feeling because I know what I'm trying to say, trying to mean. The gaps, a towering 30 foot drop into freezing reservoir. It always looks easier from the bottom doesn't it? Just jump. Just throw in a few words. But when it comes to paper, to flashing cursor, that colorful feeling conveying perfect meaning has no place on this perfectly white and rigid blank space.
There is no such thing as the perfect word. Each one riddled with connotation, nuance and coloring, each different to every single person. A person may react to a phrase as being funny, warm, cheerful, annoying, rude, insulting, stupid... To hope to convey the same, perfect meaning to all of them? Preposterous. To hope that everyone understands? Absurd. The hope for the flawless piece of writing? Akin to hoping for a photo to exactly resemble what the eye sees. Foolish. Irrational. Insane.
And a poor reason not to write.
This ridiculous ambition is the beauty of writing, is it not? Just as in music, and painting, and all art, the existence of a perfect work would render everything else useless, would diminish the fantastic nature of writing. There would be no spectrum of skill in writing, the attraction of it would be lost. And so what a good thing it is a challenge to put things into words!
But what about my problem, my debilitating affliction? What do I do when faced with a dizzying drop into ice cold uncertainty? What do I do with the gaps, the spaces once bridged with vivid feeling that then flitted away on paper? How do I know I wont hit the bottom, wont smack into the water badly, wont lose my balance when I jump?
A leap of faith is necessary. I must jump the gaps, not knowing the outcome but still realizing that I do have a good amount of control as to what will happen. The risk that some, maybe most, will not understand, feel or realize the idea I am trying to say is needed. The vault is not to be taken lightly, but is not to be avoided either.
