On Writing and Becoming: Operating in a Forever-Morphing Interspace

I realize that this blog contains some doozies [1.]. I’ve debated removing all of these pieces, and only keeping what I feel is indicative of me as a thinker and writer at present; however, this would be a disservice. For many of us who feel the deep-rooted compulsion to write…we write write well, but not great [2.]. And this is alright. For those good-but-not-great writers like myself, we write for ourselves just as much as we write to be read. We don’t give a damn what you think – unless we asked, which in this case signifies that we respect you dearly. After criticism of our writing surfaces, we may feel driven (a.) to quit, or (b.) our skin will develop a titanium-like quality, and we for better-or-worse continue to write, while brushing off the harshest critiques. We’ll continue to write with an audaciousness: we’re willing to follow through with our obsession, whether anyone enjoys – or reads, for that matter – what we’ve written. To reiterate, we write for ourselves…and why not?

I’ve come to find that my quest to become a great writer [3.] is just that: a constant state of becoming, with no end in sight – a forever-morphing interspace. There’s no need to attempt to intertwine these hopes and aspirations that first moved me to begin to write – that is, point “A” – with the final stage – that is, point “B” – whatever that may entail; these two poles instead can feed each other, creating an interspace that works as a process that is never finished. I call this a state of constant becoming, or simply “process.”

A state of constant becoming, or an unfolding interspace, is not only relevant to my thoughts on writing; this idea of becoming has also come to define my politics and ideology. While I certainly have “politics” [4.] and “ideology,” I have abandoned any attempts to be defined by hard, fast dichotomies, or categories that are static. A politics and ideology based on fluidity and creative elasticity is the only that will suffice for me. While I’m comfortable with the label “anarchist,” [5.] I’m also perfectly comfortable with the notion that every idea I have about self-liberation and a free society is completely wrong. Beware of those who have no doubt about their fixed ideas: they’re probably a dogmatist, and you’d do best to avoid their company.

Further, I have no easily-ascertained identify; arguably no one does. I’m at home with Foucault on this front:

“I am no doubt not the only one who writes in order to have no face. Do not ask who I am and do not ask me to remain the same: leave it to our bureaucrats and our police to see that our papers are in order. At least spare us their morality when we write.” [6.]

I feel at home maneuvering in a terrain (i.e., an interspace) of great uncertainty; only a process of becoming can reflect this. Another thinker who articulates this notion of constant becoming-through-writing, or a radical politics that embraces a process of becoming, is Mohamed Jean Veneuse. Veneuse has articulated a vision of “anarcha-Islam,” [7.] which allows an interspace between his interpretations of both anarchism and Islam, in which each informs the other. In a radio interview, Veneuse sounds Foucaudian on the subject:

“…I feel like the Left in general…is in dire need of what is referred to as “mediators,” operating in the middle – not holding onto dogmatic ideas [and] …not holding onto self-righteous ideas…[And] what happens in between us… [is] where we become one another…[We're] becoming something foreign in the most beautiful way.” [8.]

And there you have it. Hopefully we’re all in a perpetual state of “becoming something foreign in the most beautiful way” – whether through our written communication, our politics, or our philosophies. Instead of stagnant, dogmatic stances, our “state of being” is subverted by a constant becoming – an opening space “operating in the middle.” A process. I, for one, am embracing it. And if you don’t like it, or my writing…it’s perfectly alright; it’s a catharsis, and I feel the need to compose these damaged words in my bones – as trite as it sounds. Perhaps it’s more for me than it is for you.

[1.] By “doozies” I mean pieces that I’m not particularly fond or proud of. I’m my harshest critic, as I’m sure many folks who write can relate.

[2.] I certainly identify with this bunch. We’re in a strange, middle interspace; we can write, and we feel a compulsion to do so. Hopefully, as I have come to do, we can openly embrace the fact that we’re not superb writers; yet we’re still driven by our desire and passion to write.

[3.] To be sure and candid, I am trying to become a great writer, though the process is probably more dynamic and interesting and liberating than actually achieving this goal.

[4.] Yes, “politics” is a loaded term; however, I do not run away from it. To me, “politics” is something that happens in the streets; it’s when a group of trade unionists decide to tell their union leadership to “Fuck off!” and have a wildcat strike, or when a masked bandit throws a brick through a corporate window front, or when fed-up oppressed and repressed communities clash with police, or when a group of people make decisions in their community cooperatively without leaders, etc.

[5.] When I say “anarchism,” I’m acknowledging that there are many, many anarchisms. There is no need to treat it like a monolith. Many different anarchist tendencies and individuals can define it differently. I would argue this is what makes anarchisms so appealing.

[6.] M. Foucault, The Archaeology of Knowledge (1969), publ. Routledge, 1972

[7.] To find work by Veneuse on the subject of anarcha-Islam, check here.

[8.] These quotes are pulled from a radio interview conducted in Montpellier, Vermont in 2007 during the Renewing the Anarchist Tradition (RAT) conference. It’s available on the web here.

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