On The Importance of Being Sigurd

Tuesday 29 September 2015

I began writing with the hope of better understanding myself, to dig deep into secrets I wear buttoned tight around me, like a cold weather garment. Over the decades I have gone from journaling to poetry to fiction, and in the process, have found myself to be a Jack-of-all-trades and master of none. I have often thought much of it to be a waste of time, but in retrospect, it has allowed me move from a life of monochrome cardboard cutouts to one of great depth and brilliant color. So I sit for hours in front of my computer banging out haphazard words with thoughts roiling inside my noggin, thinking perhaps it is not, after all, a of complete waste of time.

Hemingway said, “Write hard and clear about what hurts.” I have done my best to apply that maxim. With time, I have found it does not get easier. Perhaps, because with time, I probe deeper into the wound.

Somewhere, over time I have fallen in love with words. It has become dangerous to open a dictionary. In looking up specific words, I find myself tangled in the beauty of language. I can spend hours poking through the cavalcade of words inscribed in that enchanting book. An etymological dictionary presents even greater hazards. When caught up in it, I have missed meals. Dumb rube that I am, I do not understand how all this happened.

At the age of seven, I wrote my first story. Titled it: My Story Or All About Me, an illustrated tome, it consisted of a few pages scrawled on tablet paper. When finished, I presented it to my mother. A decade ago, when she passed, I found it packed away amongst her belongings. Finding it evoked great sadness in me.

So today I wonder, is there any point to this? To writing? That is a difficult question to answer till I think of my children. Is it possible some day in the future one of them will find my pages in some dust covered box tucked away in a forgotten corner, that perhaps reading my words will evoke the sound of my voice? Is it possible in their reading they will again feel the power of my love? Though it seems possible, in the end only time will tell.

As always,

Sigurd

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