Writing is the most difficult thing I have ever endeavored in!
It sucks, I hate it, it drives me to the gates of mental Hell! Yet, I just keep doing it over and over again, like a madman who skewers himself with a knife, then settles back and thinks "that wasn't so bad."
Opinions, viewpoints, perspectives...what does it all matter?
The insanity of the writer is that he will continue tapping away at those keys, trying desperately to convey his own ideas which fundamentally, only matter to him.
It is the pure expression of an individual's ideas, whether they are understood or not by others, that keeps us of the insane order tapping away in the middle of the night.
Communication. The purveyance of ideas to other human beings, the hope that the vague chance of connecting with another soul might actually happen. This is what drives the writer to continually practice his craft.
No writer is good at what he does, at least he will never consider himself to be, but when we put down our ideas, and when the moment happens that we connect with another soul,
THAT is magic!
That is the whole point of writing, anyway. To connect with one soul, one single other person, our aspiration is that somewhere out there, somebody will GET it! (It being what I am saying)...
Aside from that moment in time, our opinions and thoughts just don't really matter that much. Our writings are merely a juxtaposition of what really is, and what we hope desperately to believe these expressions are.
Can a man go any more crazy than this? I don't think so.
Writing is good, because it gives the author a glimpse into his own soul, yet, sometimes, it's hard to accept what we find.
I hate writing!
The Insanity of the Writer
Mike's Musings...
