Now, I don’t want to diminish the importance of doctors. What am I saying? Of course I want to diminish the importance of doctors. So, before I make my point, let’s begin with a little doctor-bashing fun, shall we?
In the most likely encounter with a doctor, you’re going to make an appointment for something minor, wait in his office for three hours past the scheduled appointment time, wait again in his cold, steel examination room, be told to get bed rest and drink fluids, and then pay for this whole experience. But, it will be partially your fault for going to the doctor knowing damn well this is what’s going to happen. With a few exceptions, doctors are arrogant and think their time is more important than yours, only working in the field for the money. Worst case scenario, you may end up dead or crippled for life, simply because the doctor is too arrogant to admit when he doesn’t know what’s wrong with you.
Of course, in the best case scenario, he could save your life. As is the case for the doctor who treated my father’s cancer. Brilliant, compassionate bloke, that doctor was. So, doctors are not without their importance. The ones that can get their head out of the clouds long enough to see why they’ve chosen their profession can save lives. Damn good ones can even bring people back to life within a minute or two of death. But that power stops there. No matter how hard he tries, a physician cannot use his field of medicine to create new life.
Damn. Must suck to lack that power. I have that power. All writers have that power. That’s why writers are more important. We can not only create new life, but whole new worlds of life. You say we’re only talking about life that doesn’t really exist, but my experience would suggest otherwise.
Many of you may have read my short story, Just On Paper, where I tell the story of a writer who enters his own world. In that story, I created not one, but two worlds. What you may not know is that the inspiration for that story was an experience of mine where I entered a world I created via writing myself in the story. And, in doing so, I knew beyond all doubt that this world was real. I knew because I was there.
So, then I can assume beyond any reasonable doubt that all the worlds I create are also real, and the characters are also alive. I can also hypothesise, based on what I know, that the worlds of other writers are more likely to be real than not to be. I mean, what’s the real difference? Unless I have some sort of power that they don’t, which would feel good to believe but has no evident basis.
So, in a sense, writers are gods. We create worlds. We create life. Most of our characters don’t believe, or even know, that we exist. And that leads me to a further hypothesis. It’s not testable, so that’s as far as it will get, but you have to admit my experience so far has led to a logical thought process.
I hypothesise that the world as we know it is simply the literary musings of another writer.
Now, one might ask me, if that’s the case, where did this other writer come from? Obviously written by another writer. And, if you ask me where that writer came from, you haven’t really been paying attention.
So, how much of this am I serious about? Well, wouldn’t you like to know?