Ethereal words and letting go

Each two weeks begins the same way, I pull up the previous paper layout and begin hacking away at the content.  A few things stay put or will be modified to adapt to the next issue, but most of the content, including my regular editorial section, gets deleted and all that remains is a ghost of a space where once there were words, my words.  Gone too are the words of the many contributing writers who offer up their souls for the Owl.

Fiction is my passion.  It frees me to take the reader where I please, and allows the writing to evolve into something new, unseen and, perhaps, interesting enough to captivate a reading audience – not to mention agents and publishers.  Non-fiction is what I write, and edit, these days.  Much of my keyboard time is spent on advertising layout, correspondence with feature writers and communications with community cohorts.  I am on the go non-stop and contemplating trading in my pick-up truck – my long time vehicle of choice – for a fuel efficient hatchback.

At times, when I seek to reassess and realign what I want to be doing with my time – along with the financial realities that define print publications – I am forced to question my sanity.  Granted there are the fine moments.  Walking into a coffee shop with the newest issue and seeing an engrossed reader sneaking in sips of java with her head buried in the paper.  Or the bar room drop off where the bartender’s eyes light up and the regulars reach out to grab their new copies.

Always one to look on the brighter side, there always is, you know, a brighter side, one thing that becoming the editor of a free rural newspaper has brought me is the ability to let go.  Paring down your work is one aspect of letting go, and one that I had already gotten pretty good at.  Editing, re-editing, revising and trashing what doesn’t work takes up a significant amount of any writer’s time, or at least it should.  As with all aspirations worth aspiring to, mastering writing and being an artist means always wanting to obtain the next level in our craft.  It is a never-ending process.

Beyond that aspect of letting go, what the Owl has taught me is that no matter how well written something is, no matter how relevant it may seem at the moment it is written, printed and consumed, there is always something new that offers a different perspective.  Like a work of visual art, written works are consumed and interpreted differently by every reader – and with every read.

Along with this is the insignificance of who and what we are.  I mean how important are my words or anyone’s words.  Sure, we can look back in history and find many writers, great writers, who have had an influence in their time and even perhaps beyond.  One of my favorite writer quotes is Chinua Achebe’s, “The writer cannot expect to be excused from the task of reeducation and regeneration that must be done. In fact, he should march right in front.”  I believe in this idea, this mission.  Writers should assume a role, take a stance and march in front.

Then again, isn’t that what we all should be doing every moment, every day.  So in throwing out the old, emptying the pages as new material starts flowing in to take its place, I recognize the value of what came before, and march on into whatever new world of words awaits me.  We are dust – in the wind if you like – and in this bi-weekly turning over of the words I have been reminded that fighting for what we believe in is an incremental process that involves letting go, and trying new things.

Owl Vision and the twice-yearly themes we offer up to our readers is another way of exploring diverse views,  and letting go.  Wars Waged is our current theme – submissions due June 1st… at midnight.   This call out for writers everywhere to share what these words mean to them reminds us that everything changes.  As ghost spaces fade into the past new words drift in to take their place, to inspire us all.

D.E. Bentley, Editor, Owl Light News