I once wrote a short novel about an intergalactic demon that was summoned when all the words and phrases that the world had meant to type into a search bar but didn’t because the cursor wasn’t in the search bar when the words were typed coalesced somewhere to form the demon’s name and summoned it to Earth. I ask this question not because I am worried about intergalactic demons, or, at least, not too worried – 2021 has left us all with far bigger fish to fry – but because I wonder about the fate of my words and where they live after I have written them.
I know where my words go.
Some of them are here, right now, waiting patiently as I type before they embark upon their daily journey across the social media sea to one of my many platforms. Once there, presumably, they wait patiently (again) until someone chooses to read them, or, as is more likely, chooses not to read them. They don’t disappear after they have been read, or not read, they just sit and wait until they are read again. Or just forgotten.
Some of my words sit in novels sat on real and virtual book shelves, waiting to read, or, as has happened, wonderfully, reread, read again. These words have a different life to my social media words. These words seem to mean more to more people; not enough that they are chart-topping, best-selling, Top Ten words, but enough to enough people that at least I know that these particular words have found a new home, or, more to the point, new homes. And that’s lovely, really lovely. I couldn’t want more for my words than to become someone else’s, that’s when I know that my words work.
And then there are the words that are yet to arrive, the one’s I’ll write tomorrow, or the next day. The novels I am going to finish – I have three in the pipeline. The scripts that I’m going to send – I have two ready to go. These words. Some of these words are ready and waiting. Others are simply waiting to be joined by others, so that their combination might result in their being read by someone else somewhere else. These are the words I look forward to the most, the one’s I’ve not yet written.
Where do your words go?