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Back before the summer I wrote a lot about writing and those concerns of mine about the responsibilities attached to it. Every couple of months I find myself re-evaluating my writing — which I think is a good thing — to keep myself in check. I want to keep in mind the idea that anything I write should have a purpose to it and that I am not writing just for the sake of writing. This is certainly a temptation provided by the web log, particularly once an audience has developed. Indeed the presence of readers presents the writer with a number of issues that he/she must confront honestly: the question of intention is perhaps the most important, but there is also the matter of just producing copy so they have something to read, forgetting the important adage that we should speak good or remain silent.

What is the purpose of a web log? Well that’s a good question. The intention behind my writing has changed over time. When I first started generating copy for a website I had in 2001, it was entirely dawah orientated. When I transferred all of my writing to this format just over a year ago, I initially had in mind the idea of countering the representations of my faith and fellow believers in newspapers and on the radio which didn’t bare much resemblance to my personal experience. As it has developed, the web log has become a means of exploring my own faith, particularly in light of the valuable feedback I receive from visitors. But I guess it is quite easy to get drawn into just writing with no real aim, just because we can.

A word is an act: let us keep this in mind. We are commanded to be careful of our tongues, and so by extension we should be careful of our typing fingers. Back in April I reproduced four questions on this site which read:

Question 1: “Are these words true?”
Question 2: “Are these words necessary?”
Question 3: “Are these words beneficial?”
Question 4: “Are these words kind?”

Though difficult to achieve, to be sure, the advice that followed was that if the answer was no, those words would be best left unspoken and unwritten. No doubt we all make mistakes. I have learnt that when I reach a particular low it is almost always followed by short-lived, hyperactive humour before I return to normal, and as a result I sometimes say and write things that I later come to regret — mostly regret at coming across as an idiot. Yes, we make mistakes, but we would be wise to keep those four questions in mind, to take them to heart and live by them. Unfortunately some of us can’t help ourselves. A web logger from whom I take enormous inspiration has the misfortune to attract readers — Muslim readers — who feel the need to leave comments beneath her posts which criticise and insult her. They may do so believing that they are helping her in some way, but sometimes I think it is just a disease we have.

On Friday evening, taking the time to listen to some worries I had, my teacher told me about a tree in paradise reserved for those who reserved criticism for themselves in life, sparing their neighbours from assault and leaving alone what did not concern them — a tree providing shade for the distance it would take eighty years to travel. It need not takes us long to realise that certain principles are of key importance, permeating the teachings of our Prophet, peace be upon him: our neighbours have rights that include being safe from our tongues; when we give advice we are commanded to do so with the best of speech; we are told to think before we speak; when taking any action, we are ordered to remove anger, rancour and envy from our hearts before doing so.

The responsibilities are great. With regards to my fiction writing, I am more and more convinced that it is something I should leave behind. Ever since I started focusing on learning the Qur’an a couple of months back, I realised that it is not novelists that this ummah needs more of, but people who know their deen. Friends of ours lent us a CD about the ignorance of our time the other day and, although I have not listened to all of it yet, this element stood out for me. All of us think that we are playing our part for this ummah by choosing to become writers, doctors, engineers, lawyers, geneticists — but who is to say we are not deluding ourselves? If we are taught that knowledge will not be removed from the earth as a result of it being removed from our hearts, but as a result of the death of the scholars, should we not be using this time to sit at their feet?

Some of us have been thinking that we will turn our situation around by establishing “Islamic” models of existing structures – so some have focused their efforts on establishing newspapers, others on setting up satellite TV stations and still others, like me, on writing novels. Now it may well be that all of these are worthwhile activities, but should they be our priority? The answer that I am reaching — however difficult on one level — is that for me it should not be. My heart is inclining towards the more difficult road, even as another part of me resists. For years now I have made myself busy in my spare time with this project or that, mostly working on a piece of writing or some design work, but as I make progress in learning the Qur’an at last, I feel the need to get rid of that Protestant Work Ethic and fill my spare time with learning instead of work. So that’s where I am with the creation of fiction.

As for this web log, well it’s a matter of refocusing on its purpose, which is why I’m going to do some pruning. Already I have moved anything to do with writing, publishing, the media and computers to The Othello Press website — although the future of this is also unclear given my quest to use my spare time more productively. You can access those still via the Articles menu.

I can see myself cutting out quite a lot of content, particularly when I clearly only put it up to give you the reader something to read — a favour to readers perhaps, who must also evaluate the time spent browsing the Internet. I have some criteria in mind: are the words true, are they necessary, are they beneficial and are they kind? This cyclical evaluation is one I need to do. Forgive me if I write about all of this again in two months time. It’s not déjà-vu — it’s just my heart.