Lately, more often than not, I find myself in the state of writing.
I don’t exactly know what I mean by ‘the state of writing.’ I suppose sometimes I think I’m writing even when I’m staring at the screen of my laptop or a clean sheet of notebook paper without having written a single word. I don’t even know how that makes sense, because I literally have not written anything, yet I feel like I’m ready to, like I need to weave my thoughts into an intricate, strategic play of words that I share with my instrument (be it my laptop or my notebook) and eventually, with the public. With words, probabilities are endless – combinations seem infinite. Sometimes, as a writer, I feel like I need to seek all those combinations out – to write, until I can write no more.
I write so I don’t feel numb, as much as I want to feel nothing. It is all a matter of recall. Writing immediately after such a deeply emotional experiences always preserves it, so that when you read back to it, the emotions come flooding back as vividly as it was the first time it was experienced during that moment. Regardless of whether it was exhilarating or painful, I write – because knowing that I feel something and feel deeply about it eases me more than when I don’t exactly care.
I write to stimulate my brain. Nowadays, everything feels like it’s on autopilot – wake up, Facebook/Twitter/Tumblr, eat, laze around the house, watch TV, eat some more, go to sleep. One can do all these things without really thinking; it’s going through the motions without maximizing the experience because you know you’re going to do the same old shit with little variety tomorrow. I write so my mind processes the nuances – the iteratives of everyday life, the iteratives that you insert in novels to lengthen and enrich them, according to my brilliant Fiction Writing professor. I write, because in life, autopilot should never be enough.
Lastly, I write because I want to. Despite the bouts of writer’s block, despite the creativity I always think I lack, despite every obstacle a writer really goes through, I write because I want to. I write because there is nothing more fulfilling than seeing your ideas come to life through words you carefully sort through and pick in your rich bank of vocabulary. I write because there is nothing more satisfying than releasing your thoughts exactly how you think them, regardless of whether they’re ideas, pictures or anything in between. I write because nothing else will do in that moment. I write, because more often than not, I find myself asking, “Why don’t I write?”
Why do you write?