Something Dave knows quite well, I have a hard time approaching any sort of writing without a critical eye. Sometimes it comes off negatively, and unfortunately he hears most about it. What can I say, I’m comfortable around him. However, because of errors in my own communication, I have been ridiculed for this over the years. I have even been told what seemed to be an inevitable observation: that I don’t know how to enjoy poetry that isn’t like mine. This is the furthest from the truth.
As time goes on, slowly but surely, I am learning more and more about why I am so critical toward writing. My conclusion: I’m an editor at heart. I cannot help but to show wandering punctuation their way back home; to re-construct a line of poetry into a well-timed rhyme, instead of flow that confuses the mind; to systematically think up alternate — more impacting — metaphors; or to simply see a piece as “not working”. It’s natural. It’s unable to be fully tamed. It’s me.
Do any of these mental changes of art take away from the original potential and talent of the piece? No. All that my mind does is make it more understandable, relatable, and accessible to those who are not founders of the art. Am I always right and flawless? Heck no. I am an artist, just like any other. In fact, there are times when I re-read original poetry and wonder what I was even thinking — only to realize that I obviously wasn’t. We are all human.
So, to clarify more plainly, it isn’t that I am unable to enjoy all forms of art. It isn’t that I don’t recognize talent outside of my genre. It isn’t that I am haughty and looking for dreams to crush. It isn’t that I am harsh (unless asked to be) in my critique. It isn’t that I cannot read without giving criticism (because I never do, unless asked). No, the truth, in its most raw form, is that I am a writer and an editor. I know the roles of the lead, as well as the eraser. Heck, I’m the pencil who’d sometimes prefer to be the pen.
I am who I am: Brittany Rose.