Writing and I are on speaking terms today. Other days, we pretend not to know each other. Either way, it’s an infatuation I just can’t shake.
We were not put here to merely endure our lives. We were meant to create. It is exhilarating – free reign to create something out of absolutely nothing.
Like this blank page.
I can riff on anything I want, I can make these words sing or I can make them squawk, but either way, it is entirely up to me to birth them into existence.
Writing is creative merely by its existence.
It isn’t what you create, it’s that you create that is important. For you who cannot not write, it brings you alive, lights you up, makes you salivate at the prospect of what will pour out onto the page.
It’s all yours for the taking – you can make something, or not.
Your writing muscle must be exercised for it to thrive.
My goal for the past few months has been to write 1,000 words a day. It takes about 30 minutes and I allow myself to write whatever I like. On the days I don’t do it I feel less focused and grumpy. Kind of like eating well and working out – the days you do it are better and the effects are cumulative.
Like most writers, I have a love-hate relationship with writing. Some days it is my hero and other days a bully. We can go through the motions or tango our way through a torrent of pluperfect phrases.
The effort in writing 1,000 words a day has helped me exercise what had become a dormant muscle. A combination of burnout, academic writing, and not being true to my voice all conspired to tamp down any creative energy that dared peek out.
The desire to write got dustier and awkward. It wasn’t that I had nothing to say, but saying so little for so long had left me feeling mute and afraid.
Each day I write now opens up a deeper well of ability and knowledge, and reacquaints me with the desire to write even more.
I suppose it’s like the opposite of pruning.
The more I produce, the more that production grows exponentially. Not the amount, but the ease with which it is created and the depth of the well from which the words are drawn.
Each time the bucket is lowered it goes deeper and the words that rise to the top are more clear, more sweet, and more refreshing.
Turns out, the more you write, the more you write.
Writers write; it’s what they do.
I’ve never really thought of myself as a writer, it was just something I did. Until recently, I hadn’t noticed that most people write very little.
I designed my work for the past eleven years in a way that required me to write, without thinking about how unusual that is.
Writing just feels normal. Like breathing.
And lately, writing is so cathartic it is having a tranquilizing effect on the chaos in my head and my day.
Days have fallen into line because I wrote and other days lurched along until I did. Writing is proving to be a powerful and comforting ally.
I can’t not write; it’s what I do.
- What is your relationship to writing?
- How does the amount of writing you do change your relationship with it?
Leave me a comment – oh, go ahead and write me a whole novel if the writing spirit moves you! – and tell me why you can’t not write too 🙂