Francis Meyrick


Revealed Humanity

Posted on June 8, 2013

Revealed Humanity

A small handful of stories achieve something, that the common mass and jousting jumble of written words never, ever will:

They give us a glimpse into the very soul of the writer, naked and uncovered, brave and bloodied. Their tales are their gift to us. They permit us to walk a mile in their shoes, and breathe in for a humbling moment the very essence of their interaction with Life, Death, and the Universe.

These stories are rare, and precious, for their spiritual and emotional intensity. Their clarity and nobility. Through them, the humanity of the writer is revealed, bravely, for all to see. Katie achieves this with “Summertime”, and T.Clifford does it with “Of Dignity and Despair”. Alister Flik does it with “Confusion”, and Legion hits us hard with “The Man that Ruined my Life”. Very often the writers themselves have suffered. But without their hurt, the doubt, the bewilderment, even the self loathing, they would never have brought to us that delicate picture, that finely chiseled monument to compassion and feeling. Those are the stories I always hope to find.

Before Writers’ Harbor, I was a member of Writers’ Cafe. Dear, oh dear. Not nice. I remember one young black writer, obviously poorly educated, but writing feelingly about gangs, drugs, and the random impregnation of young girls for macho bragging reasons. Brilliantly insightful. Sure, he had technical issues, grammar goblins, the usual. Just the tools of the trade. You can acquire those over time. But the story behind it all was beautifully feeling. Well, the self appointed website Judges assaulted this emerging writer with a viciousness that was truly uncalled for. Soon, beaten up and discouraged, he withdrew into the shadows, and we heard no more from him. Such a loss.

I say that 99.9 per cent of writers take themselves way too seriously, and rate their own skills way too highly. Against that, 0.1 per cent of all writers are the often hidden, emotional and spiritual giants.
A handful of stories achieve something, that the common mass and jousting jumble of written words never will:

They give us a glimpse into the very soul of the writer, naked and uncovered, brave and bloodied. Their tales are their gift to us. They permit us to walk a mile in their shoes, and breathe in for a humbling moment the very essence of their interaction with Life, Death, and the Universe.

Revealed humanity. Brave. Awesome. The giants amongst us.
Those are the story tellers… I always hope to find.

Francis Meyrick

Last edited by Francis Meyrick on June 8, 2013, 1:39 pm


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