With some surprise, I realize I’ve missed it, the blank and mysterious page or screen, fraught with promise and pregnant with possibility, that beckons me from the outer reaches of my mind, gently singing its siren call to sit down and write awhile, to explore the things that are mulling around in my head.
It often seems to me that the reason I write is to find out what it is I’m thinking.
There’s something about the act of putting thoughts to screen or paper that provides a clarity that they might not – at least in my case! – ever achieve otherwise.
It seems to me too that the best writing happens when the focus is on following that flow until that formless inner urge feels satisfied. Only then can I look at what has appeared on the page or screen with the eye of a potential reader and try to polish it so that it is the best expression I can create of what I’m trying to say.
And sometimes the polishing, instead of reflecting more light, simply dulls it down so there’s nothing left of the magic I felt when it was streaming through my mind and out my fingers! So clearly, there are times when it’s important just to let the images and feelings flow as they will, willy-nilly, out into the world.
And sometimes I read what I’ve written and decide it’s only good for the trash barrel.
I wonder if writing ever becomes “easy”?