I was up bright and early this morning and then I fell fast asleep.
I like this that the writer David Mitchell says about language. He’s a damn fine writer who treats language as if it is a queen but writes it like it’s the workingman.
“I learned that language is to the human experience what spectography is to light: Every word holds a tiny infinity of nuances, a genealogy, a social set of possible users, and that although a writer must sometimes pretend to use language lightly, he should never actually do so — the stuff is near sacred.”
There is a definite sacredness to language. A certain tone, like when you tap a tuning fork, that must be dealt with if the words are to speak to someone else.
There’s a real history to words, too. Nearly all are older than me! So they deserve respect. But then in the end you have to, if you’re a writer, come to terms with mastering them temporarily for your purposes but then knowing it’s their potency that will have the final power.
I see words as being corralled in a timeless pasture until the moment comes to write and then they are released like wild horses and if you’re a lucky and talented writer you get to charge after the ones you want and they submit to a tether. But it’s always the ones that get away that really inspire and lead you endlessly back to language for a chance at something grand.