The act of writing is a strange thing. More than other actions does it often give one the sense of being a fraud. I imagine that most, if not all, people who have attempted creative writing have looked back at a piece they have just written and asked themself, 'Who has written this? Whose words are these lying on the page? Surely they cannot be mine?' A second reading reveals ideas that were not present when the writer was at labour, a third reading often reveals yet more. If these ideas were not consciously present during the creation of the piece then does this mean that the ideas were conceived by some other? And then there all the echoes, imprints and traces of other writers, writers that have walked these paths many times previously, pioneers who seemingly created the paths at the birth of writing. Writing often feels like walking in the footsteps of these pioneers, only one's feet often feel dwarfed by the colossal footprints of our predecessors. When one looks back at a piece it often feels like a counterfeit; a shoddy imitation or childish reenactment of something that has already been done. It is not just other, older, better writers that rear their horrible, spectral heads within one's piece either. There are all the fragments of songs, films, television, conversations, advertisements, photographs, bulletins, elegies and instructions that are knitted together into a musty patchwork shroud that falls over the piece. It all culminates in a feeling of paranoia that can set in whenever one re-reads their work. If applied to any aspect of life you can probably feel this paranoia if you analyse your actions closely enough. Every action is a kaleidoscope of past life experience that comes together to form the full picture. As writing is such a physical distillation of these experiences, this coming together is more easily noted. The feeling of unease that accompanies this is therefore one that should not worry the writer. We are all frauds. It is the uneasiness of the exhibitionist that sets in, the butterflies in the stomach of the performer before they go on stage.Submit to the ghosts that guide your actions. This is what we do with most actions in our lives. Writing seems to be more of a conduit for the subconscious, and therefore a context where these ghosts are felt more readily. Do not be afraid. We are all ghosts in our selves, ghosts for other people. Our presence is not deceitful, and neither is theirs. Our concern should be with the conduction, once these ghosts are trapped upon the page. The writer should aim to be a ringmaster of ghosts, whipping them into shape for the joy of the assembled crowd. In order to increase the excitement for the audience let the ghosts roam free at first; intensify the drama, instigate excitement, horror, joy. Then rein them in. The applause will follow.
