Word Ward

Struck by good writing or powerful speeches, I am reminded of the impressive ability of words. Read a review before you experience a product of consumption - be it actual food, or music, or literature - and you will find your experience indelibly coloured by the words of another. A journalist's grizzly exposition of a prominent personage's transgressions can be the harbinger for his resignation in the imminent future. Two simple words said in front of a congregation cement a lifetime partnership.

There is an odd cadence to words, and a rhythm to them that suggests they have a life of their own. Beyond the speaker and his speech or voice, the words he speaks have an intrinsic music, and a power of their own. The speaker's own abilities, like a musician's, make a difference between a good rendition and a bad one. But ultimately, the delivery is only a rendition. Words in themselves are something purer still. More than content or style, every word has meaning and meanings which you can tease out and make resonate by the way you string them together with other words. Constructed and deconstructed, they are greater than the sum of their parts.

Eloquence and story-telling. Eloquence in story-telling. I promised myself once that I would endeavour to these things. But I have failed my old primary school motto. I have endeavoured, but not persevered, in craftsmanship. Talking to a friend recently, I remarked on how I relied upon the spirit of inspiration to write. Her response was that in order to best do justice to that you need to have the discipline of consistent practise.

Reminded of this, I am resolved to write. I do. Not just as the spirit moves. Not just in fits and spurts, at times engorged on hypergraphia, sometimes starving. But in controlled, intentional way, chewing through the varying forms of texts in a regular diet intended for growth.