criticism

Writers are made, Not Born
by Cirilo F. Bautista

The ability to verbalize human experience for the aesthetic enjoyment of others is not, contrary to popular notions, inborn; it is a product of training. This genius to textualize beauty in excellent language results from years of struggling with language, not from the happy confluence of parental genes. The talent might be there at birth, but if it is not prodded or nurtured, it will come to nothing.

Modern science has shed light on this matter. In the annual conference of the British Psychological Society, Michael Howe of Exeter University averred that “as extraordinary as geniuses with exceptional scientific or creative talents are, they have much in common with ordinary people. Genuine creative achievements depend more on perseverance over the long haul than prodigious childhood skills.”

The genius for writing, in short, is the product of an unswerving involvement, of “keeping the faith” and mastering the craft, even in the most desperate and unfavorable situations. Anyone can write, but not anyone can write well—that thin demarcation line separates he true practitioner from the mere dabbler and indicates degree of their commitment. “What makes geniuses special,” Howe added, “is their long-tern commitment. They struggle very hard and they keep on persisting. They enjoy their work. They excel in concentrating and persevering. Their efforts are focused, and all geniuses have a firm sense of direction.”

The real writer realizes in life that to be of any significance, he must dedicate much, if not all, of his being to the mastery of his craft and the production of a meaningful body of work. His capability and preparedness emanate from his sensitivity to human conditions of his milieu, which in turn create his “view of life” – that is, his literary agenda for recreation of the world. For the world is never satisfactory to the writer, that is why he is always examining it and trying to fins out justification for its state. He does not intend to improve it—no writer can improve the world—but simply to probe it and expose all aspects of its reality for the readers to have a true appreciation of it.

Struggling and persisting in their work, creative geniuses ultimately accomplish their objectives. Jose Rizal, though assaulted at times by desperation and personal grief, did not lose his concentration until Noli Me Tangere and El Filibusterismo saw the light of textuality. “The Bronte sisters did not suddenly begin writing great novels. They perfected their writing skills through intense preparation over periods of many years. And George Eliot had an excellent training. She was immensely diligent and made herself into a superb scholar and writer through her serious and sustained effort,” Howe asserted.

That persistence is welded to a well-focused effort, of course. Persistence is the mother of production, as one might say, for literary inventors need a staying power that is concentrated on a definite field. The good writer is not easily discouraged nor deflected from his intentions. He has already assessed his capacity and knows his limit, but he continues to increase his capacity and to push his limit.

Writing now becomes his right as well as his burden, but he will not give up easily either of them. Difficulties in the actual writing of his work may initially obstruct his course, but he will be inventive in overcoming them. Helen Bevington wrote that, “Milton wrote chiefly in winter. Keats looked for spring to wake him up. Burns chose the autumn. Longfellow liked the month of September. Shelly flourished in the hot months. Some poets, like Wordsworth, have gone outdoors to work. Others, like Auden, keep to the curtained room. Schiller needed the smell of rotten apples about him to make a poem. Tennyson and Walter de la Mare had to smoke. Auden drinks lots of tea, Spender coffee; Hart Crane drank alcohol. Pope, Byron, and William Morris were creative late at night.”

The true creative writer, lastly, has a firm understanding of his direction. His genius never falters in the struggle to achieve his goal—a novel, an epic, a drama. It may take him months or years to do this, but he plods on, energized by the knowledge that success will come sooner or later.

Sunday, May 7, 2000, Philippine Panorama

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