The art of writing... by Liz Flaherty #WordWranglers

I live in a community of cornfields, small towns where most everyone knows everyone else (but doesn't mind their business because it's, you know, their business...), Dollar General stores, Walmarts, and drugstore chains. We have quite a few boutiques anymore, and they're wonderful, fun places not everyone can afford and not everyone feels comfortable in--but they are a change, added flavor where sometimes the shopping palate falls flat.

We're not arty.

Except that we are. The arts communities within most towns around here are active and generous with their time and talents. They're enthusiastic participants in First Friday and Second Saturday events. We have lovely galleries, as well as some wonderful wineries, coffee shops, and micro-breweries that make downtown walks around into an unexpected experience.

Downtown Peru, Indiana

Live music is a rich addition to every event and every festival, even at area libraries. The music is eclectic and fun--sometimes exciting and sometimes soothing. 

Because manufacturing has mostly left us, because there aren't many small farmers left in the area, because this is a place of low pay and--so we are accused--low education, culture and the arts are all the more important. I am glad and grateful that they are here.

But the work of non-academic writers is seldom considered part of those arts. We aren't usually invited to participate in gallery occasions. This is nothing new--it's always been this way. It didn't used to bother me--I've always considered myself a craftsman more than an artist--but I find myself newly resentful of being considered...less.

I must put another part of that in here before I go on. I don't particularly like participating in events. There is little I dislike more than a book-signing. Because of that old "what if I fail?" thing, I guess. I don't offer myself up because if I do fail, I don't want it to affect anyone else. Makes you think maybe I'm the one who considers me that "less" I was whining about. Hmmm...

Liz & Nan at an "event." Photo by Sarah Luginbill

At the end of the day it's the joy of being asked that I regret not exeriencing.

When I Googled the question, Is writing an art?, there were more answers than I expected. And many of us who are still asking it.

Is it more likely to be considered an art in urban areas where there are still bookstores and budgets and buildings are bigger?

"Curiouser and curiouser..."

From my point of view, yeah, I think it's an art. It's creative, it's hard, it's painstaking and is often ripped from our very souls. That sounds dramatic, I know, but if you've ever spent three hours at the desk for the sake of one completed sentence...well, like I said, ripped from our souls.

For the sake of my soul--and conversation--where do you weigh in? If you're a writer, do you consider yourself an artist? If you're a reader, do you consider our work to be art? (Whichever way you look at it, always know we appreciate you.)