John-Ward Leighton

BACK ISSUES

Why do I write? At times it seems to be because I must, the why of this compulsion is an unanswered question. Why this need to put thought and imagination into words and conversely into thought? Who reads this stuff anyway?

I often, when in the company of my peers and friends, tend to dominate conversations. It’s not that I don’t value the input of others but I always seem to be caught in a childish game of one up man-ship, always trying to tell the best story, joke or anecdote. I find I have to consciously tell myself to “shut the fuck up”.

Of course when I write in my journal daily or at my computer keyboard the only other in the room is my muse. She often runs rough shod over me, her willing slave. Other writers talk of re-writes and revisions but I rarely do that except to correct tense or typos or misuse of it’s, its, there, their, were, where, etc. etc…

I have been reading back issues of The Paris Review and their ongoing series called “The Art of Fiction” and “The Art of Poetry” where writers and poets are interviewed and do what writers are not supposed to do and talk about the nuts and bolts of writing.

I always find it interesting but not particularly enlightening. I always find by the end of the interview I either like or dislike or could care less about the authors. I check their books out at the library and in most cases read the first paragraph and put the book down and see if my curiosity causes me to read the rest of it. A lot of what is considered fine literature gets returned with only the first paragraph read.

Another strange thing with me is that I cannot remember any of the poems I have written and come across them in my journal or one of my poetry files and it’s as if I’m seeing them for the first time. At that time I do some revisions because frankly I can’t remember my emotional state the first time they were written. It’s kind of like trying to remember dreams.

I’m never without a journal and several pens plus my camera as photography is my other compulsive obsession. Lately I rarely go anywhere without a hat. Much similar to my youth where men always wore a hat, outside at least, because inside the women ruled and you were reminded by the question, “Were you born in a barn?” and told to remove your hat.

How I got from writing to wearing hats is another thing about my mental processes that puzzles me. I often told my photography students if they ask themselves why they are taking a picture the answer will not make them a better photographer and they will probably miss the moment. I have a feeling it’s the same with writing.

Ciao, JWL