Inspiration and Methods
Dear Fellow,
The blank page of word processors no longer scares me. The blinking cursor on them do not feel like the ticking of a time bomb anymore. Hell is not inside of me, but the cursor has been an effective scarecrow—the cursor scares a whole lot out of me.
My current situation with word processors feels like tending to a farm. I come to the blank screen as a farmer, accompanied by supposed friends. Seeds, seedlings, tools, and other farm necessities in hand, I come to the blank screen, which is the land to be cultivated.
My supposed friends also include ego, familiarity, and assumptions—just to mention the more obstinate of them, those more difficult to subdue. Especially these three are too clingy and unwavering a set of friends that I unable to merely wish away. The blinking cursor, however, is their worst nightmare. Each blink a bigger threat during a day’s work on the farm, they soon show themselves untrustworthy. Halfway through the day’s work, you find these supposed friends worn out and smitten, if not scared off the field. So have I grown to appreciate work on the farms that are word processors and the blinking cursor a perfect scarecrow.
Ego feeds me the lie that I am the best man for the job, that there can’t be anyone else to work the fields but me. It says the subject matter I deal with in each session on the field cannot be done any better than I would. It says it is not a privilege, that no one but me is the best fit for the job. Well, this supposed friend will not also let me learn from other farmers who have cultivated or are still cultivating the same or similar crops like I do on my farm. Ego says I alone have seen the highs and lows of cultivating every crop I grow on my farmland. But every blink of the cursor makes this supposed friend waver sooner.
Familiarity says it is not new. That the work done for the previous farm season, for the previous crop, is the same. It says to not be excited about mere repetition: “You did it yesterday. It is no different today. Do it this way and that.” It says there is nothing to be amazed at. Just go about the routine, your lot, and get it done with and move on. There is no wonder in this place.
Assumptions says there cannot be anything different from what is set in my heart. That what I know is the best version obtainable anywhere. That all others obtainable elsewhere are not it. That I cannot be wrong. That there is no need to verify, clarify, or modify—at every point of the job, that is. That I should just move on and get done with. But one of the worst mistakes I have made is to be Assumptions.
To serve before purpled men does not seem like the final end.
I set out to write this piece with no clear vision in mind. All I had was the first sentence, the very first at the opening of this piece(—and the title). That statement is more of an affirmation. The journey so far feels long and unending. At times you wonder what the destination is, where all this is headed. Where your commitment to a craft is headed. To serve before purpled men does not seem like the final end. It feels like there is so much more beyond that. May I know it, and become ever glad and joyful when I reach that final end.
What would have been a better title for this piece, I wonder?
Your LetterMan,
Tongjal, W. N.
Keep on the good work brother.
Thank you, Nanmi.