Writers of the Word
by Walter Seton Bunker
In the beginning was the Word
And the Word was with God
And the Word was God.
All things came to be through Him
And without Him nothing came to be.
In using the term "Word," St. John describes the personification of two concepts, Creation and Communication. We too are "Writers of the Word" for that’s what we are, Creators and Communicators. In our writings we create an entity apart from ourselves, yet one with us. And through that our creations communicate to others.
Isn’t that the way we writers regard our creations, a work separate from us yet still a part of our very selves? And oh, what an enchanting world we writers create. Tales that make us laugh, bring us to tears, make us dream and raise us to the heights. Our words may sing like music, paint a picture, sculpt a statue but songs and pictures and statues, that are not frozen in time but move, that love and hate, that live and die.
Some of us write of personal experiences, events and conditions that touch us deeply and resonate like a prayer. Others, like Zohreh, Pamela, Judi and Becky create poems with words and phrases of such beauty they sing like a song. Kathy creates a dramatic scene simply by her use of dialogue.
Others take us on voyages to realms we’ve never seen. Have you ever seen a tin mine in Cornwall or visited the palaces of dukes and viscounts? Richard will take you there. And if you’d like to eavesdrop on a woman’s conversation at a beauty parlor in Tennessee, why Mary Anne will slip you in the side door. I’ll bet you’ve never been on a whaler headed for the arctic; Charlie will be your first mate. And if you’d like to go on a boat ride down the Ohio River, Alexander is your man.
I’ll bet you’ve never visited the Louvre or seen the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Barry will be your guide. And speaking of trips, Dr. Jack will take you on a journey to the paranormal through the spirit of a Cherokee Dream Catcher. Hey, if there’s anything you want to know about similes, metaphors, redundancies or alliteration, just read the poems of that wordsmith, Dottie Rockel. And finally, Vivian will take you on a tour through the labyrinthine minds of little old ladies. I couldn’t mention all your names
And that I do regret.
You’re easy to remember
And so hard to forget.
But how can I say all twenty-five
When the chip I picked says
“Stop at Five.”
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