Must… Write
I’ve always wondered how the demographics of the world might respond to a poll or survey about the urge to write. I could envision the questions on a questionnaire, but I can’t quite envision the situation in which the questionnaire would be given. I may have been ill aware that such a poll or survey has already been conducted, but I tend to go along wondering evermore.
The urge to write, or perhaps the urge to simply create anything, is an interesting one although I may not be cohering to the wholest of truths in this statement as I make no comparison to the other urges of the world. All I know is that the urge to write is a sudden one, stimulated by realizations, books, conversations, or anything that could be inspiring.
And, in the sudden event of the overwhelming urge, there is a simple fleeting moment when it’s all clear, and the poetic or clear descriptions fly through the mind. There is that moment when inspiration strikes, and the thoughts will spin with “Must… Write” until…
It all ends before the pen is ever lifted. The urge to write lingers, the descriptions that felt so right deteriorated, and it wasn’t because of an over-extended blink.
Moments Past
In my personal experience with this urge to write, I find that although inspiration may be fleeting, the urge to write is not. This urge starts in a sudden moment, but it is not like a great enlightenment unless it was started by a great enlightenment. The idea lingers in the mind, and the thought may or may not be nourished.
Even moments past the time of inspiration, even days past, I find myself considering the words to write to a short little article. The words are woven together in the way that seems perfect, and yet the words shift with each mental rerun. All through the moments that pass, beyond the point of inspiration, the pen is never touched, and the idea remains in its little eggshell, waiting for the right moment to hatch. But, the urge remains an urge until it has been thought out so much that the mind becomes content and forgets the urge. The hatchling that was to be emerged only as an idealization of the creature within.
Perhaps, this is only the effect of laziness, but I’ve always thought it curious that thoughts of writing could compensate for actual writing, that the idealized image of the hatchling that never was could compensate for the live thing. Perhaps, these are the very writings that are not necessarily to be made to be read but rather written to be written, for the sake of writing and the love of sheerly meshing words together. Thus, to merely mentally construct these writings unintended for an audience would be satiation enough for the act of thinking the words through is little less than the act of laying the thoughts into concrete symbols and letters.
Moments Remembered
But when the moments are long spun into the past, those urges to write are not forgotten, and the thoughts remained archived. The exact descriptions and sentences envisioned are lost, and it is those I wish I had recorded. I can only remember how perfect those words seemed in those moments like a parent remembers the perfection of a deceased child.
But then, I reflect upon those urges to write much like in this article. I wonder… Was I just exploring a world of clichés all along? Clichés were the words that seemed to fit. Was I just wasting my time in never writing but always thinking of things to write? Alas, if I were to affirm, I discover that this ‘waste’ becomes inevitable and that in questioning it, I further it.
I remember things. I decide that I should keep a notebook handy, but I cannot bring myself to record. Lost in a world of writing in thought, I must write yet I will not, so I let the moments pass with no regrets.
I’ve always wondered how many people would read this article and nod their heads in response to each little step of this recurring cycle of wanting to write that feels so meaningful. I’ve always wondered how many people would check yes in that questionnaire I envision, the one that asked “Have you ever written without lifting the pen?” I’ve always glanced towards those who suddenly lose themselves in a world of thought, wondering if they are hit by a similar phenomenon.
I think us trivial thinkers are all writers in our little world of observations and thoughts from observation. The urge to write never lifts the pen because in the scheme of things, it is the urge to consider.
This entry was posted on Sunday, November 9th, 2008 at 9:34 pm and is filed under Reflections. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.