E V E R Y O N E S H O U L D W R I T E.
There are obviously others of you out there who, like me, also feel compelled to write. You see life, the world, passing, and you grab the moment by writing, and you write before it passes beyond your grasp. So you can proceed with living. It makes me feel better to know there are others of you. I used to feel like writing was this domain of the fancy, or the intellectual. I never want to call myself a writer, in that I don’t necessarily write to show others what I’ve written, or need/want to prove myself (no way). Now I think it’s too bad that more people don’t pick up the pen for themselves, just for themselves. You don’t have to write “properly”, who cares about grammar, and no one is grading you. What is the big deal? You don’t have to show anyone. I’m not saying blog publicly or anything. I’m just saying writing helps you figure out and get perspective in ways that talking sometimes doesn’t, and sooooooooooo many people miss out on that. Sometimes you just need your own company, your own inner guidance/wisdom. And you need that vehicle through which to talk to yourself on that deeper level ー sounds funny, but it’s true: writing is there just waiting for you to use. The pen, symbolically, is that vehicle. Am I making sense? I guess many would say that vehicle ought to be meditation, something non-verbal. But for me I find that the answers from “somewhere” (not me) usually come when I’m writing. I haven’t been left hanging yet.
Ok, the writing propaganda part is over.
T I M E S T O P P E R S C L U B .
Time stoppage was also sort of propaganda, because actually I guess writers can’t stop time ー though it does feel like it, doesn’t it? You sit here at the computer, or at the page with the pen, and any recorder of history or even creator of fiction, gets to feel like they control time for a minute. And that’s crazy good. It’s not only comforting and perspective-gaining, but gives one a little milestone in one’s morning, day, week, month, year ー however often you write. I honestly don’t think I’m giving writing too much of a pedastal. I even remember certain moments of writing when I was very young ー and they were when I was all alone, in unremarkable locations like my bedroom (the physical appearance of which I mostly forget), scribbling in [ok, very cute pink Hello Kitty or similar] notebooks, in escape mode from elementary school life ー when I detailed very insignificant moments really, in the playground, or more significantly, ideas of what Mozart was really like as a kid. I clearly remember that this certain moment was second grade, but honestly in general I don’t have much of a memory of the rest of my early youth. I’m thinking maybe it’ll be like that for me later as well. I won’t remember much of my thirties, (scary), but I’ll remember a post I did on a certain pair of shoes that I really wanted. . . (sad). . . Who knows? But it’s interesting to use writing to record things going on, and see what sticks, help yourself see what is really important to you. (At least that is what I am hoping will happen for me.) Ok, back to packing/practicing combo. My flight is at 4. Maybe Time Pausers Club ー give us writers a bit more credit. And since Time Slowers Club just sounds dumb.