What I will tell you about myself:

If you find yourself reading this page, to me, it’s no accident.

In a conversation this afternoon, a new friend I made today suggested I was a “factotum.”

“Good word,” says I.

Wikipedia defines “factotum:”

A factotum is a general servant or a person having many diverse activities or responsibilities. The word derives from the Latin command (imperative construction) fac totum (”do/make everything”).

“It totally describes you: you’re a photographer, you were a playwright, you’re an engineer — all these totally different things….”

“I still think of myself, primarily, as a writer, but I’ve always been better at quantitative and analytical thinking.  And now, I work primarily as an engineer.”

We talked about our experiences with English classes, and how much we both hated the field in High School.

“But what I love, and what I have spent the most time exploring, is language.  Words can be incredibly powerful.”

That was true.  I’ve come to understanding language these days in a way that is downright mystical.  I’m certainly no master, but

My experince of the power language tells me that every time we define ourselves to another person, or when somebody defines us, in a very real sense we get reinvented.  The gegree of realization of this invention is directly related to the extent that utterance carries the authentic weight of our own confidence.

Words are interesting in themselves. Factotum, as you can see, carries with it the notion of being a servant; of being commanded.  Another reference can be found in Literature: Charles Bukowski’s novel “Factotum,” considered his most autobiographical work. It’s next on my reading list, right after I finish “The Crying of Lot 49″ by Thomas Pynchon.  The plot summary, from Wikipedia:

Factotum takes place in 1944 and follows the life of perpetually unemployed alcoholic Henry Chinaski as he drifts through the city streets of lower class Los Angeles in search of a job that won’t come between him and his first love: writing. He is consistently rejected by the only publishing house he respects, but is driven to continue by the knowledge that he could do better than the authors they continually publish. Chinaski soon begins sleeping with fellow barfly Jan, a kindred spirit he meets while drowning his sorrows at a bar. When a brief stint as a bookie finds him abandoned by the only woman with whom he is able to relate, a brief fling with gold-digging floozy Laura finds him once again falling into a morose state of perpetual drunkenness and unemployment.

This summary certainly casts a very different light on the word.  It makes me even more curious to read the novel.  Bukowski, like any significant artist, is never discovered though reading summaries.  You have to make the effort to connect in order to gain access to the gold.  This applies to art as well as people….