Writing is an oddly contrary profession as one needs lots of solitary time to ruminate, write, revise, rewrite and rue the errors and oversights you didn’t catch when you should have. We want approval, accolades and acceptance but for writers those things are often a kiss of death because a great writer is more interested in stirring the pot, passing people off and getting a conversation started. Where would we be culturallly without the essay ON cannibals? How about the beagle Darwin discusses at length in his study of evolution? Swift’s opus A Modest Proposal is one of those fantastic efforts I will never be sure we fully comprehend hundreds of years since the pamphlet shocked an all to literal yet illiterate audience who didn’t see the English were eating the Irish alive until the bitter old poet pointed it out in fierce biting satire that still makes students gasp at the first time, the imagery is that upsetting but not at al removed from troubling truths we’re seeing. Realized in ways far more insidious and pernicious than our minds can fully accept.
Subliminal treachery, big pharma follies, new liberal nightmares like common corp and subsidies for wal mart, a military industrial complex fueled by working poor youth fight for an American Dream only the elite few can actually afford. There are still books and essays, even poemsthat made people think, question, rebel and write what they think as they can do so for themselves. With anyone and everyone able to publish on kindle or blog you’d think the excess text would obscure that but it’s not the case. The ring of truth is rare but you’ll find it when you look and read in earnest. Writing is just a natural consequence of that noble effort.