“The pen is mightier than the sword.” No doubt, this is an
unmistakably true statement, especially if you’re an avid writer. And when it’s
fleshed out, a new perception comes to light: the pen is in fact the sword. Maybe it’s not the Excalibur we’ve all been
waiting for, but it certainly performs in a similar manner: a few swift
motions, proper handling, and a little practice, and out comes the result of a
work of art, and like the sword itself, the pen can excrete the raw emotion and
power of the human mind; good and evil’s purest forms come to light on both
ends of the spectrum. The only difference, however, is whose hand the pen is
in.
When George Orwell wrote 1984,
he conceived this oppressive, inhumanly totalitarian world. With War of the Worlds, H.G. had a similar mindset;
albeit no human had ever met a living, existing Martian, his perceptions of
good and evil could be pitted against each other in a juxtaposed world of
beauty, mystery, sanctuary, and redemption, and there was no one to tell him
otherwise. Realistically, he very well could have ended War of the Worlds by saying “The Martians were actually really nice
and everyone lived happily ever after,” but why would he? Where’s the fun in a
Science Fiction (fiction is the key word) if there’s an ounce of anticlimax? In
this scenario, the pen creates, spoon-feeds, and kills the life of the story.
Consequently, the author does, too. Personally, my literary influences revolve
around macabre themes; so theoretically, my own creative writing will reflect
that, which in comparison puts me in control of my own pen – my own sword. Each
sword is different, as it pertains to each person; some ‘swords’ alter their
respective universes for the better, some for the worse – some times, neither
at all. My point is: the sword and the author’s intentions on how to use the sword
are the primary, and crucial factors to how a story is born, how it lives, how
it dies, and most importantly, how the reader remembers it. So next time you
sit down with your sword, and your infinitely running amounts of papyrus (in
layman talk, that’s Microsoft Word!), think, in the long scheme of things, what
kind of cut or gash your sword will make in your audiences’ mind. Good or bad,
you want it to be remembered for many moments after. King Arthur didn’t make a
few dents in history by swinging Excalibur with a few hearty threats. He acted
upon his intentions, and you should too. Each
author, their own king, each pen their sword, and each document, their Round
Table. Choose your knights carefully, or they may leave your kingdom in the
ashes of yesteryear.
Shameless plug of
mimicked text excerpt below:
“…it is chaos, and to
this chaos the author says “go!” allowing the world to flicker and fuse.” (Nabokov
2)
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