You may have noticed that I have had a low profile recently! It is possible to get attached to social media, to the masks that you show to the air waves. I felt I was being swallowed up in something invisible which had become compulsive, a compulsion to be visible in an artificial world. I eventually realised that there was something much greater at work than devices and instant publishing, and blowing my own trumpet. One day I asked myself, what was more important, my daily life in the real world as a creative artist, or my media life as a cheap fashion item? My honest answer led to this pause.
As a writer, I had failed to see that the media was hounding me, from many angles. Messages teemed in flattering and poking me, trick-clicking me into getting involved in spending lots of money, albeit in infinitesimal amounts, on amassing ‘likes’ and ‘mentions,’ and the like. I suddenly noticed the current was rapid and reaching a crescendo, but that I was going in another direction from the one I had selected. In other words, I was being pulled on board a gigantic raft loaded with a million dime-makers. Shocked, I stood up and turned over the money-changer’s tables. Writing was a different stream, and so I floated away from the vibrating, dollar-dangling internet waves.
It was a moment of immense power to know that what I write communicates in other natural ways, without the expensive charges of opportunists. The great writers have survived by dint of their brilliance and the appropriateness of the message they were sharing. There were very few intermediaries from the media circus. Ah! This was the luscious slow-flowing stream that I belonged in. I am grateful for the harnessing of the air waves for our convenience, but at the same time, the internet is only one of the many tools we can make use of. I am certain that not one of the tools we humans create will ever be a patch on our divine mysticism as a race, our natural individuality and precious voice.
To me, writing is a meditation, and if my stillness and silence is to be shared via the symbols I scribble, then greater powers will come into play than those of the sordid profiteers and end-gaining capitalists, who could be pushing bingo cards or zinc supplements for all they know about writing. Money is not connected in any way to it: I’ll take my chances financially in the world. I’ll move to a hot climate if necessary, and comb the beaches for feathers to make into quills and milk octopuses for their ink so I can continue scribbling.
Writing needs stillness and silence uncomplicated by compulsions and commercial strangleholds. I have decided to write as well as I possibly can, as comprehensively as humanly possible, rather than split my energy and knack and get rich overnight. I have more confidence in the human spirit to bring to the cosmic surface the messages that are most needed to our development as a species of love and goodness, than in hype and ‘like’ scores. I am certain of my message because I’m in touch with my sincere heart. That’s all.
So, my next book, ‘Glorious Life: Glorious Death’ will be finished very soon, thanks to my realisation and the empty road ahead on which to travel. The crowds have gone home, and the surface of the river is swollen with possibilities.