You don’t have to be James Joyce

Every secret of a writer’s soul, every experience of his life, every quality of his mind, is written large in his works – Virginia Wolfe

You don’t have to be James Joyce. You don’t have to be Virginia Wolfe either. James Joyce has already been James Joyce, Virginia Wolfe has already been Virginia Wolfe. They’ve done their work on this Earth. Not it’s time for you to do your work — the soulful, inspired work of being you.

 No one else has your voice.

When the words flow through your pen onto the page, or through your fingertips onto the screen, they are your words and no one else’s, borne of your own life experiences, your own character, your own inner being and knowing. That’s the way it’s meant to be and we need your words. We need your unique point of view. We’ve already had James’s and Virginia’s.

Enrich the world with your words, if you know yourself to be a writer, if you know that this was what you were born to do.

You’ve heard that the pen is mightier than the sword, now use it not to pierce but to heal, to enlighten and uplift. By doing so you become part of the evolution, the forward motion, the upward spiral.

Writers throughout the century have known this, although surely no-one told them. Did you know that you are standing on the shoulders of giants? That the same impulse that pulsed through the writers of old pulses through your veins too. This compulsion to share, to explain and to be known. To contribute to the human race’s understanding of itself while wrestling with your own understanding. Why is it that our best ideas flow through the ink, as the blood flows through our veins, as the rivers flow to the sea, all part of the mighty life force?

Leo Rivas on unsplash

We are here in this physical form for a relatively short time and we feel we are here for a reason. And we attempt to solve these mysteries by writing about them. It’s a way to communicate, a way to connect, a way to sift and sort through the mysteries of our being. We might never come to the end of it, which is perhaps why this compulsion exists, a forever quest for understanding, always something to know. Inner discoveries to be made as exciting as an unknown Pharoah’s tomb or a part of the rain forest as yet unpenetrated. This inner wilderness is ours for the taking.

All you need is a pen. A humble sheet of paper.

So rest on the broad back of James. Allow yourself to be exhilarated by the artistry of Virginia, but use them as a launchpad for your own unique genius, for the words that are waiting to spill out and transform.

Welcome, O life! I go to encounter for the millionth time the reality of experience and to forge in the smithy of my soul the uncreated conscience of my race – James Joyce