Some have crossed the unfathomable point where matter
becomes evanescent; and they did not want to return.
-Ramón Nieto: El Oficio de Escribir (The Craft of Writing)
When writing
a novel, a story, a poem or any other type of literary creation, someone is
trying to carve in the narration a little of their experiences, their pain,
their happiness, their sensibilities, and their vision of the world. Contrary
to what this could suggest, though, the purpose of the story is not to become a
cathartic medium for the author, but to establish some communication, to convey
to the readers a glimpse into the soul of the writer, hoping that he or she
will be understood by those who see in the tale being told reflections of their
daily life and inner universe.
© Text and photograph, William
Almonte Jiménez, 2008
From the very moment it is published, a
piece of literature owes its own existence to the necessity of the readers to
find explanations and solutions to the different puzzles and enigmas that are
part of the human condition. The work is no longer property of the author; it
belongs to the readers. They interpret it once and again; they relate to the
characters to a greater or lesser degree; they pass it through the filter of
their psyche, and return it full of meanings and nuances that not even the
writer would have imagined; they turn it into a dynamic and living entity that
evolves and goes through endless metamorphosis. What The Divine Comedy
expressed to the readers of the fourteenth century is not the same that it reveals
to us in the twenty-first century.
But, regardless of the urgency with which
writers try to talk to us, they are not entitled to our attention, they have to
earn it. What they write has to awaken our interest, it must have some
relevance to justify our reading it; it has to be worth our while; and it
should speak to us in a way that resonates with our most intimate chords. In
other words, the story has to have content and form, substance and style. It
should be able to be read effortlessly. It must drag us like a relentless
current to the anticipated denouement; take us to the whirlpool of the tragic
climax, or to the calm waters of the happy ending.
The words must flow in the story or the
anecdote like water flows in a river. And like water, (that does not pass twice
through the same place), they have the responsibility to tell us something new
every time. The river of words must be original and different, like a river
that flows from heaven to earth, or, why not, from earth to heaven. Any story whose
intention is to leave an indelible impression on the readers, even if it is
not, it should at least, aspire to be a vertical river.
