The Compass, the Binnacle & the Three Legged Dog by John Ross Barnes
John, do this. Pick a direction, you've got a compass. Right. Um, I mean write -
Writing is like life, or writing is life? I have always admired writers, probably second only to painters. Sort of the same job, different media. Although I'm sure some would espouse the science, the forms, rules, craft of writing, what I'm primarily interested in is the art of writing. I have to be. It's how I am, and I'm learning not to fight that so much.
For many years I didn't write because I felt unqualified, and in many ways I am. When many of you were dutifully learning sentence structure, I was drawing dragons in the back of the class. When others were learning composition I was reading everything I could. From that I did learn a love of writing, of the story, the poem and the lyrics of song. I don't think I really know what I'm doing, where I'm going or how to get there. Except I have to write now, and so I do.
It's not that I have no regard for the rules, I do, as much I think as one can who doesn't know the rules. I'm fifty three years old. If I'm going to write, to work this stuff out, to make some written art, I'd better "git to gittin", as the old folks say. I don't know that I so much consciously decided a few years ago, that I was going to write, as I just started writing things. For the thoughts and feelings that swirled then and now and need release, for the hope some may find value in it.
Is it writing for writing's sake as there is art for art's sake? Though art for art, some argue, is in fact art for all's sake. For the art, the artist, the audience and the sheer existence of all in all, it gets done. And the writing's just the same for me.
Does not knowing the rules mean I have no right to try? It's like walking without sufficient legs to stand on. But does the three legged dog, however he got that way, not have a right to try? Sure, Fido needs to learn some rules about perambulation. What effect gravity, traction, slope, slip and fall have - for his sake and for all those other dogs who have to go with him, be around him. In the mean time, as he learns he gets to stumble, look foolish, and probably hurt himself. But he keeps moving. Ever see a three legged dog just give up and not try to walk. Stumbling, looking comically or sadly foolish, hurting himself sometimes, that dog is going to keep moving. And so I write. "That dog can't hunt". Perhaps not, but he can sniff the air. He can prick up his ears. He will sense something that needs tracking down, and move.
One thing even a three legged dog has that I do not: a decent sense of direction. Sometimes all people need a compass, whether real or metaphorical. And if that compass serves on the pitching deck of a craft at sea, it better have a binnacle. The binnacle is that double ring frame a ship's compass is mounted in. If kept lubricated and it's tension adjusted the binnacle keeps the compass level - balanced. If the Compass is not level it cannot serve accurately. It will bind. It will pitch. It will do everything But show the way. The way out to a destination, or the way back home.
For some of us getting our minds out there is not an issue, though having a clear destination may be. And even having a vague idea of our destination may or may not be helped by a compass. For us sometimes the bigger issue is getting back home. Home in our heads, home to our origins, home to what will sustain.
And so knowing that I must go writing forth, though not perhaps always in which direction, I will move. And I will keep my compass handy, my binnacle oiled, to find my way home again.
