Following a discussion with Gethyn: the impetus for writing; why do people write? To communicate; that much is conclusive; though that is not a hunger; rather, a purpose, which renders it practical; similarly to the distinction of Roman funerary inscriptions as useful art. Then why? For enjoyment? To perform? To disseminate a particular message? Do not the motivations for one’s exertion of the written word predispose the assemblage; and furthermore, is it possible for a Writer to manipulate who are the beholders? In a word; yes: if my discourse on Cicero is dryly academic, it seeks out Classicists and Scholars who, in turn, chase it in equal measure.
Pliny the Younger was self-aggrandising and braggadocios, and he included facsimiles of his letters and speeches in epistles to friends and patrones, as he intended for these to be recited; similarly, he assembled people before him for the express purposes of memorialising his discourse.
“…and especially the total solitude of the critic, the Patmos of thought from which he writes, in unconsciousness of any eyes that shall ever read this writing. Could they dream on still, as angels, and not wake to comparisons, and to be flattered! Yet some natures are too good to be spoiled by praise, and wherever the vein of thought reaches down into the profound, there is no danger from vanity.”
– Ralph Waldo Emerson, Character
Emerson was captivated by and devoted to Aeschylus, for example, because he distinguished “a stake in that book,” and because Aeschylus touched that, he impressed Emerson (despite the ironic fact that Aeschylus was a regular competitor in the Great Dionysia!). I am partial to the representation of Aeschylus, as The Oresetia trilogy is one of my preferred Classical oeuvres.
And thus I contemplate my inducement: I do not boast a considerable retinue; and the superiority of these is friends and family, I am not remunerated financially, there are infinitely more accomplished wordsmiths than me, I am not proffering political or social commentary and I do not presuppose that my stats wills exceed the double digits on any singular day.
Therefore, I must surmise that I write purely for delectation; it makes me happy, and if that joy is detected by even one beholder, I will be content…