I have a hard time letting myself write. I want things to be perfect, to flow out of my brain, down my arms, through my fingers and onto my keyboard – perfectly. This rarely happens. I get caught up in the structures that I’ve been taught throughout my years in school. I constantly have the voices of teachers and professors in my mind telling me where to put the adjectives, how to link two thoughts, how to begin a paragraph.
The amount of time I spend writing is transverse to the amount of time I spend thinking about writing. If I wrote as much as I thought I’d have volumes and volumes of work. I guess the main theme is fear. I’m afraid. I’m afraid I might be bad. I’m afraid I might be good. I’m afraid to get corrected and afraid that in the attempt to correct my writing the corrector will destroy the art of it.
I don’t consider myself an artist. I try to think of writing in less lofty ways. The act of writing is simple in that I take thoughts and put them on paper. It’s no different than talking. Interestingly enough I prefer the way I write to the way I talk. My thoughts flow clearly onto paper but in the act of speaking my words often get jumbled. Or, worse yet, I get interrupted. The best part about writing is that you can’t get interrupted. You say what you have to say and then someone reads it. You don’t have to stop mid-sentence, wait for the person who’s interrupted you to say what they have to say and then try to remember what the heck you were trying to say in the first place.
I’m easily distracted. I guess that’s my weakness. One of them at least. I get distracted by noises and the television. I get distracted by the silence when I rid myself of the distracting noise. I get detracted by my thoughts and my typing. I get distracted by hunger or thirst. But, with distractions come new ideas, new theories. And with those come writing. My love. My life.