The Ivory Tower Now Has WiFi

I freely admit there are times — many times — when I am caught by surprise at someone commenting on something I’ve written. It’s not false modesty (here, I’ll save you the trouble of saying it… “dude, any modesty coming from you would be false”) to say it’s rather astonishing when it happens. Not that I’m so self-abasing as to believe my modest scribbles are unworthy of public attention. Reference the false modesty comment above. Rather, it’s observing how regardless of its public nature when published, writing is a solitary exercise. You have your say on whatever the current topic may be, slap it on the server, and away it goes. I like the illustration Kris Klingensmith of Barnabas uses in God’s Not Dead (And Neither Are We) about how making records is like shooting arrows over the horizon. Same deal with blogging, or twittering, or column-ing. You can try to aim your words. But you don’t know who you’re going to hit.

Which is a good thing, really.

It makes you more cognizant of what you write.

One of the quandaries every writer faces is how much of themselves they wish to reveal. Certain parameters are obvious: don’t talk about how hot some girl you know may be when your girlfriend reads your blog, keep your workplace commentary muted in case one or more co-workers decides to see what you’re up to online. Setting aside such common sense considerations, if you’re writing about something slightly deeper than what you had for lunch yesterday, aside from those times when you pen impersonal intellectual exercises you’re going to have an internal debate as to whether you actually want to talk about it.

Whatever ‘it’ may be.

Back in the days of yore, one could lay it on the line as much as their heart desired without fear of it coming back to them. There was a gap, a separation between artist and audience. The most personal contact possible was a letter. Now, the era of social media has erased the space. Very, very few communicators are not in some form making a direct connection with their audience off stage as well as on. The ivory tower now has WiFi.

While this has broken down the artificial barriers that previously existed between artist and audience, it has also put the artist — yes, good writers are artists — in a far more vulnerable position than was previously the case. Regardless of the reality, direct communication imparts a feeling of familiarity between those involved. At least one of the two parties involved feels as if they ‘know’ the other person. Why not? If you’re out there spilling your guts, someone is going to get the understandable notion you’re trying to establish a personal connection. If that’s not your intention, you’d better pull back pronto.

That said, if you are trying to communicate something more substantive in an artistic sense than what you had for lunch yesterday — which probably wasn’t all that artistic — you accept the penalties that come with the territory. You don’t know who’s going to read what you write. You don’t know how they’ll react to or interpret your work. And you have no say in the matter. Shoot your arrows. Some will find them sweeter than Cupid’s, some will find them poison.

Attempting to communicate truths of a spiritual nature falls under much the same parameters. The true minister does not speak impassively or impartially. They not only believe their message, they bleed their message. Any other approach, anything else is vapid yarnspinning. The true ministers give of themelves, accepting the accompanying times of exhaustion and sorrow as part of the joyful penalty that comes with picking up your cross and following Christ.

Inexorably tied into this is the realization that one must carefully put together and filter their words prior to committing then to print. As noted earlier, you don’t know who’ll read them. You don’t know who God is going to bring into contact with them. You don’t know how He will use them. You do know you’re responsible for them. Throwing whatever crosses your mind out there in the cause of verbage for verbage’s sake? Never an option.

Speak as best you can. Speak from heart, head and soul. Speak ever mindful of where your words may land. And speak minus the belief you deserve a mass audience. Appreciate those who take the time to read your words, especially those who respond.

Shoot your arrows over the horizon. But, make sure they’re worthy of whoever they may strike.