I have a cellular phone. I carry it with me whenever I leave the house for more than checking the mail or running downstairs to the laundry room. The great irony is that I don’t talk to anyone. I have a communications device undreamt of a generation ago. I have the capability of being in contact with any of billions of people in just a few moments. I pay monthly for this privilege, and I barely use it at all. The technology, the capability, the potential is mind-boggling when you stop to consider it. But what good is that capability when you’ve got nothing to say, and no one to say it to?
What good is the skill of writing if you’ve got nothing to write and no one to write it for?
One of the challenges facing a man who fancies himself a writer.
“And I sing this for the captain
Whose ship has not been built
For the mother in confusion
Her cradle still unfilled
For the heart with no companion
For the soul without a king
For the prima ballerina
Who cannot dance to anything”
-From “Heart With No Companion” by Leonard Cohen