We write frankly and fearlessly but then we “modify” before we print.
Writing is like the soul speaking through the fingertips. For me, sometimes it is just my heart needing a good share, or my mind just needing a good moan, too. If the heart, mind and soul are not given the text to do this with all the words stays lingering. I notice the moment I stop writing – the days I don’t really jot down much of my inner chatter or my musings – things just start to get stuck.
I feel like I could type and type for every waking hour of the day sometimes. Often I stop myself because, well, what would I write about for that long? What would I say…? Who would want to read it? What’s the point when it’s not for anything?
But, surely there’s every point if it is just for me? Surely there is every reason to spill these words out onto the paper or onto the keyboard. I just fear not knowing what to say, or what I have to say, not making sense…sounding weird. I’m not saying I always do – sometimes I don’t give two hoots, and I still hit ‘publish’ whatever I’m worrying about, with a strict rule not to change stuff.
But maybe I need to do more of what Mr Twain suggests above. Maybe I need to let loose on the keyboard and then tidy it up afterwards. I don’t do enough of that, I think. As I type I often notice I am constantly thinking about what it sounds like, constantly wondering what people will think, constantly worrying it isn’t quite right. As I type there’s like a constant chitter chatter of judgement, or pitter patter of the feet of my Critic wandering around in my head. Sometimes, for a paragraph or a sentence or so, I let the words flow. But for others, I stutter and trip as the volume of the Critic is so flippin’ loud. Oh how invigorating these paragraphs are, when I worry less – I flow more.
Some days it’s easier than others, as is the way with these kinda things. I definitely notice though that the days in which I don’t write, they’re the days I need it the most. And they tend to be the days when there are a million words at my fingertips just wanting to be spread, but I don’t know what to do with them, where to put them, how to shape them, why I even need them…
So maybe these are the days when I do just what I’ve done now. When just ten minutes ago I had about a hundred different blog posts I wanted to write, a hundred different ideas of stuff I want to talk about, but can’t really find the focus/motivation/clarity to spill out any of them. Sometimes it is nice not to do things for stuff. Sometimes it is nice just to do things for me. Because after all, that is the biggest purpose to do anything at all.
I’m going to be a writer, I know I am. In what way I am not quite sure. It fills me with fear, and a wonder whether it is really for me. But right now it is all I want to be doing. Not full time, not fo’ real just yet, but it certainly is running the themes of my days…and I know it will continue to. But even if I didn’t want to do this, this writing is just as important whatever the goal, whatever the dream. And in some ways, letting this dream just be there, not be the fuel behind this typing, I think works best. It stays something I just love…something I am doing just because.
I am not saying though I don’t find it near impossible to write with ambition…to not pull my laptop onto my knees and type with the purpose of other people reading it, or for just having done it, or for the feeling of accomplishment, not the feeling of expression. But all of that is pure health too, as well as just sitting down in front of the keyboard or the paper and spilling out whatever is running round your head or your fingertips, all in the name of pure expression…all in the name of You.