Writers

I have a lot of favorite stories about writers.

Ernest Hemingway telling a reporter it takes about a "half inch" of whiskey to finish a paragraph.

Charles Bukowski telling his publicist that when he writes the stories, he gets to not be the drunken asshole on the plane.

Roald Dahl nearly beating a man to death in a Swedish airport.

Okay, that last one may have been a lie, but regardless, writers are beautiful. Lunatics. History makers. Story tellers. Drinkers.

They are your favorite uncle. Your tribe historian. The men (and women, yes) responsible for the emotion of a group. The memory. The folks who gather you around the fire, and through smoke and mystery, tell you how it was. It doesn't matter if it is accurate or not, they send the heroes on their quests. They bring the loves together. They lull you to sleep and keep you awake with excitement.

Just one more page, you say. One more story.

Fuck, without writers, we'd have no history. No Alexander the Great, who conquered the world, and claimed its most beautiful woman as his prize. No Shakespeare, no matter who or what he really was. No Christ. Imagine that. No Christ. No Buddha, no Mohammed, No Christ. Perhaps I've begun to make an argument for the world better without writers.

Shit.

Let me backtrack.

Writers are madmen. Dreamers of immeasurable depth, unbeatable loneliness, and incomprehensible brilliance. You see, they don't just write those pretty words, strung into tolerable sentences, with any luck left in your brain and heart for decades to come, no. They also think about it. They see the world around them and say 'this should be recorded, somehow. This is my world, and it should be known.' They see more value in their world, in your world, than anyone else. They are the reason you speak your language. The reason your country has history. The reason you can read this. And with any luck, the reason you can think now of your favorite quote, passage, or story.

Writers are the invisible girders holding this cunt of a world together. They are the spokes in the wheel. The grapes in the wine. They are your perception. Whether you like it or not.

Someday, I hope to be one.