The page in front of me is empty, just a white space. I must fill with my thoughts. How many writers
have been unknowingly filled with that kind of arrogance. The truth is that even if the page may seem blank at first sight, no one writes in a vacuum. The writer may be said to draw from a vast storehouse of previous images and texts that have been seething in the cauldron of already stated ideas or, if you will, some sort of spiritus mundi (spirit of the world) fashioned by giants. In that sense, the writer is always a re-writer, a re-teller of monumental stories
We may see more
and farther than our predecessors, not because we have keener vision or greater
height, but because we are lifted up and borne aloft on their gigantic stature.
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