Fëanor's Autobiography by belegur

On writing and invention

The primary task of our existence must be invention.

I know that many of you would like me to address this issue in the broadest possible sense, including in that term 'invention' also the multitude of what I call 'word programs', that is, all manners of stories and poems. However, I cannot do that with a clear conscience. The distinction is easily noticeable between the mechanical and the linguistic, one having a real effect on our immediate environment, and the other having an imaginary effect.

However, as you all well know, in my youth I had myself a strong passion for words and I never missed a chance to show off my memory, quoting many an author on more than a few languages. I also tried to compose my own lyrics but came to the conclusion that to write good poems one must spend more of his time on practicing writing and observation than that occupation deserves. Coming to that conclusion is, I think, what separates those who could, possibly, write well and those who will accomplish nothing, as writing is to them a mere fancy. And realizing that writing is, in the bottom line, a futility, especially if it is good, must be a burden and I can only imagine that a somewhat deluded person could except that conclusion and strive on. However, as an anonymous poet said:

Made of iron is he,

who still loves what others leave.

Even though, I must say I have not regretted my decision since.

But let us return to more cheerful matters.

From the time I have taken invention as my primary occupation, my life has been one of protracted ecstasy. I have felt that finally all my forces were working in harmony and to a lovable end. This period which lasts, I can with certainty say, from that moment till now, I can only describe as blissful. However, I am saddened as I suspect that many in the years to come will not have the resolution or the clarity of purpose that I had in the making of my decision. It might be that they will understand the extraordinary privilege of my occupation only after it becomes to them unattainable, whether through their personal choice, their circumstances, or an easily influenced disposition of the mind. It is indeed a waste, as I suspect that the most capable poets could also be the most capable engineers, as the same precision is required, the same attention to details coupled with a simultaneous keen awareness of the purpose or the wanted effect of the poem/machine.

But, as much as our method of thinking is similar, there are profound differences – in their effect on nature (which we both, poets and engineers, are trying to subdue), poets are more comparable to men who are daydreaming about control, while engineers are successful (most of the time) to enforce that control in reality.