Since writing is considered one of the arts along with music, dance, drawing and painting, sculpture, and whatever else you might include in this most generous of creative terms, I’d like to point out its difference to the other vehicles for expressing creative abilities, geniuses, or the lack thereof . . .
I know this could provoke disagreement but I state this as only my opinion about writing. Unlike the other “arts”, writing does not “evolve”. Writing, regardless of how it began and what it’s become, has its basis in words. Words come in different languages and symbols, but they’ve always been designed to communicate, to illustrate, to define, to suggest, and to eventually be read.
The other arts have morphed through innumerable changes in tools, in equipment, in the ever-changing landscapes, the regions of peoples and their advancements—or failures to do so—and the choices available for use in the expressions of artists.
The one thing these arts have in common is the desire to communicate. However, words serve communication as their sole purpose and this becomes the basis for the art of writing.
We could discuss the ancient trends or the current styles and all those that have been used in between, but the objective remains the same. Some have written in diaries, hidden them away only to have them discovered and celebrated or decried by future generations. Nevertheless, those secret words communicated the thought processes of individuals who chose to write them; committed them to a form for later reflection or to express the emotion of that moment. The words become art or treatises or heresies or tragic recollections, but they communicate something good, bad, or indifferent.
When writing transcends to “art”, we can usually find those who reject each piece selected for such acclaim, and in this way all of the other arts concur there is always the subjectivity of those who observe, judge, and often partake of each skill. There is no pleasing the entire audience of art—or artists. The fateful journey of each artist takes odd twists and the results of these travels often lead to tragic ends or joyful ecstasies. The writer cannot be pigeon-holed in his efforts, his intentions, or his psyche. His unique approach can be smothered in self-loathing, embraced with great passion, or methodically outlined and administered with determined practicality.
As a writer, I’m not laying claim to my writing as art. I know it communicates. I know I hope it is read. I know I labor over some pieces and not so much over others. I care for the words. I write with passion. I am one writer amidst thousands. Unnoticed for the most part but recognized by the Lord of all creation. I’m doing what He asked, and the results, whatever they will be, belong to Him.
The art of writing hasn’t changed. It’s as meaningful and thought-provoking as it’s always been and will always be. Words cannot be underestimated. After all . . .
In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God . . .
John 1:1 (NIV)
Father, may my words honor you, my writing given back to you, a meager gift. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.
Into the Fire 
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