by Kyle Carruthers
The love of words has always been a part of me, but when I was young I mostly cherished them for the novels I read–the fantastic tales that filled my nights. I put words, and the art of writing, in a box. I considered only their application to my particular hobby.
The dissolution of my narrow perspective started slowly. It began first with the startling realization that I could enjoy realistic fiction. Strings of words could be interesting without referencing a dragon? Astounding! Next, the previously dreaded genre of nonfiction captured my heart. That was the end. I was corrupted to the point that I enjoyed writing even essays.
My beginning confusion was a common one. The purpose, style, audience, of these varying works were diverse, seemingly unrelated. But they were joined inseparably by one foundation: words, language.
The love of words refuses to be pigeon-holed, for words themselves cannot be pigeon-holed. We are immersed in words like we are immersed in air, both are constant and enable the basics of life.
Businesses require memos, emails, labels, ads, signs, titles, registries, and presentations in order to function. Hours are devoured by writers honing political speeches bent on altering the course of nations. Instruction manuals allow the assembly of complex industrial and commercial machines. Modern civilization rests in the power of language.
Because of this, the art of writing is not simply an endeavor into analyzing Shakespeare. The wordsmith is constantly exposed to the power of words–thousands of them daily. The wordsmith’s exploration is an exploration of the life-blood of humanity, the veins that connect and feed individuals.
I decided to become a professional writer when I first understood that the profession is unlimited. Writers are always needed because words are always needed. As long as I have passion for the threading of sentences, I will have a place.