Writers

Shot of snow
Research and freedom of expression

To write…

Why do I write? I don't even know how to answer that question. Because I was taught since I was little, like so many others.

I am one of the millions of writers who fight day after day in these arid steppes, cracked by the projectiles of indiscriminate opinions. From hole to hole, from trench to trench, I take care that no one splashes me enough to leave me off the map.

The writer is a little soldier of lead who has to be careful when choosing which paths he wants to scrutinize, since a slight mistake and can end up in the mud sunk by its own weight.

On the other hand, a writer's best weapon is his hands, the same ones that carry the bullets of his critical sense in the pencil, the same ones that project on paper a point of view as objective as possible. Bam, you hear a dry sound, smell of the "politically incorrect", rivers of ink run and someone gets hurt. Obviously the writer, his own words reach him like a badly calibrated mortar.

Does it make sense to be a writer in a world that already knows everything and at any moment, that is, in a world where the reader and the writer collapse in the same person because of new media, where publishing is within reach of any user and any pocket, is the figure of a professional writer really necessary?

Undoubtedly, the figure of the fully dedicated writer is fundamental, now more than ever. It should be borne in mind that, since there is access to the publication of texts and / or opinions from anyone's hand, this brings a new vision to this age-old profession, where before only a few could access. At this point, the diversity of opinions and information is a double-edged sword, which the professional writer must know how to use to enrich his knowledge and not to corrupt it.

The writer, in my opinion, rather than a speaker being a listener, must nourish himself from any context, he must immerse himself in every inch of what surrounds him in order to know how to find the main nucleus and break it down into a spectrum as simple as possible to understand the reader. It should mimic the environment, read and listen to anything that speaks or marbles, instruct and watch "on the shoulders of giants" as Newton used to say.

I'm not a professional writer, not even pseudo-professional, maybe even amateur. This is my first blog and maybe my last, you never know. As I said, in this battle for freedom of expression and absolute utopian truth, I am just another speck of dust that wanders the desert in search of a dreamlike oasis. A data that travels at the speed of light from my computer keyboard to crash into your screen, sketching something like a reflection. See how easy this is?