I have always been fascinated with words. Just like bullets and armies, words have the ability to shape the course of history. Where would the United States be if Thomas Paine hadn’t written Common Sense and persuaded the colonist to rebel against the King and create a new nation? Would the United States have descended into Civil War without Harriet Beecher Stowe’s Uncle Tom Cabin? How would global economics look different without The Wealth of Nations or the Communist Manifesto?
To be fair, the above are probably extreme examples and for all I know the world would still follow a similar trajectory with or without Paine, Stowe, or Marx. But at the same time, it proves that writing can play a very pivotal role in the course of history.
Along with the seismic implications words can have on the course of history, I have always been fascinated in the art of words. There is magic in the way sentences can be intertwined in such a way that transports a 21st century teenager to sympathize with the desperation of a family that is betrayed by both nature and people as they struggle to simply survive in the “land of the plenty” (Yes, I am referring to my favorite book Grapes of Wrath). Words alone have the ability to help a white, sheltered girl that has never felt a drop of racial oppression in her life to experience the heavy oppression of a black woman fighting for her independence (Now I am referring to my other favorite novel, Zora Neale Hurston’s Their Eyes Were Watching God).
Despite being transfixed with the power of words my entire life, I hit the brutal realization this past year that my own writing ability is far from being able to change lives--much less be considered an art form. If I learned anything in my first semester of college, it’s that writing has become one of the most difficult, infuriating parts of my life. I may have perceived myself as a stellar writer in the seventh grade because I received a 100% in my English class, but I am currently struggling to write a moderately coherent paragraph. Although I have accepted the fact that I will never write with the artistry of Steinbeck, I would like to be able to write a paragraph without sounding like a blabbering idiot.
I decided to write for Odyssey as my New Year’s Resolution in an attempt to improve my writing. I don’t believe I have some unique perception of the world or that my articles will provide any earth shattering insight. Frankly, I am not even expecting anyone to read my articles.
So, reader, regardless whether you are with me or not, let the journey begin.
