“Being someone I know is not my main concern. I aim at something better: at liking myself, which is more difficult”, wrote Flaubert, in Voyage en Bretagne.
It’s the kind of message I would give to people who ask why I write, why I want to stand out, why I say so much and other ‘whys’.
We are different. Some people write lightly, elegantly, delicately, seductively, poetically, inspiringly, sparingly, sensuously, rhythmically, impeccably, masterfully, breathtakingly. They are those people who give us priceless gifts through each of their texts, help us to live other lives, to dream, to hope, to enrich our imagination. I admire them, I’d like to think that through exercise I could aspire to be at some point as they were in the beginning.
There are also people who express themselves more easily in writing than verbally, for whom writing is a therapy beyond talking to a psychoanalyst. They don’t have the same talent as those in the first category. At their birth, fairies were out of writing dust. Perhaps they will always try, always be searching; perhaps some will succeed through discipline, enrichment of style, vocabulary, refinement of means, courage. Writing is for some a necessity, as sport is for others.
Style is man, said a French writer. Some have a style with baroque influences, others a romantic one, others a realistic one, others combine different styles, look at reality and reinterpret it or create different worlds, putting there personal style, superimposed on all the metaphors of the world.
In the search for my style I will have many awkwardnesses, inadequacies, I will erase and rewrite, I will write well and write badly, then I will rewrite. It’s like when children learn to walk. They will fall, they will get hurt, they will be scolded, unfortunately, by some adults, but they will keep going, with all their inner strength. How else?