A computer will never take the place of a human wordsmith/editor. Robots and artificial intelligence cannot duplicate the true emotion that lives in the connotative nuances of words. Only the heart and soul can breathe life into black-and-white ink splotches on a crumbled page which will become art, drama, perception, persuasion, and pre-cognition. It is our history, our current timeline, and our future. The human brain and Universal mind produces words that sing, inform, rejoice, or weep; sometimes, most often heard in the silent pauses between descriptive utterances of voice and breath.
Hence, the philosophy of one lone humble poet and writer, “bowmanauthor/bowmaneditor”.
I am a notorious wordsmith; this is my obsession.
I agonize over a conjunction or a preposition.
Adjectives are dear friends to me,
But my descriptive pals must let me see
A word painting come to life on the page!
I don’t count the words to set my gauge
Of whether I’ve said enough or way too much.
I brainstorm the words in a mad rush,
Then go back to the start and begin again.
I cut and I add, question and doubt, change and rearrange.
It’s like a Scrabble game; you make the words fit
With the luck of the draw, bit by bit,
Combined with the letters on the gameboard in play
To select words in a new and different way.
Such is the story and frank admission
Of a writer of words with a crazed obsession.
Deborah A. Bowman, wordsmith