Language is a mysterious thing. For instance, when one writes, “Japanese summers are humid,” the content conveyed is that humidity is high and temperatures are elevated in Japan during the summer. From this point, the succeeding sentences can diverge in countless directions. “Japanese summers are humid, so it is easy to sweat.” Or, “Japanese summers are humid, so the sound of wind chimes is beautiful.” Regardless of strict causality, one might write, “Japanese summers are humid, but a summer sauna is the best.” Or even, “Japanese summers are humid, but I love summer.” Regarding the sauna and the love of summer, some might think, “But? No, surely it’s because of that.”
In this way, the associations drawn from the phrase “Japanese summers are humid” differ depending on the reader. However, the moment those thoughts are put into words, such branching possibilities begin to vanish. If I write, “Japanese summers are humid, so deodorant is essential,” the meaning of summer here is limited to a season requiring antiperspirants, and the potential branches of thought narrow. On the other hand, if I write, “Japanese summers are humid, but that’s what makes it good,” it becomes a mere monologue. Language is a means of expression. In communication, as we string words together to convey our intent, the act of linguistic expression becomes one of narrowing down meaning.
This is particularly evident in business or administrative communication. For example, when asking a colleague, “Can you hand me that pen?” you might point, or if the colleague asks “Which one?” you might add words like, “The pen on top of the red book,” thereby limiting the meaning. Such exchanges are not confined to the workplace—they happen at schools and homes—but they can be categorized as administrative communication.
If we define linguistic expressions that narrow meaning as “administrative communication,” then expressions that expand meaning without limiting it could be called “creative communication.” Just as various branches of thought are imagined from “Japanese summers are humid,” linguistic expressions that do not restrict meaning allow for greater possibilities in writing stories. The aforementioned “Japanese summers are humid, but that’s what makes it good” is a simple monologue, but it does not limit meaning. There is no explanation of what is good. Precisely because of that lack of explanation, there is room to begin telling a story.
To further limit meaning is to use words to guide the reader toward what you want to convey. Conversely, allowing a “margin” (blank space) in language is a liberation from the restriction of meaning imposed by words.
Humans are creatures of language. We attempt to convey our will through words, and by receiving words, we try to understand the will of others. As long as we are alive, we cannot escape linguistic expression. We find it necessary to utter words and to speak. Within that necessity, I seek the balance of how to convey my intent through my own words while avoiding being bound by them. This search for balance is the very significance of creative activity for me.
