Writing

Writing is an exploration.  You start from nothing and learn as you go.
E. L. Doctorow

I’ve always enjoyed writing.  I write fiction and narrative.  I write stories about strange places and characters with unpronounceable names.  I write stories about places closer to home, with people who could be your neighbor.  I write narrative about the person who could be your neighbor, if your neighbor were me.

I write about things to get them out of my head and onto paper.  I never know exactly where I’ll end up when I start writing.  I put thoughts down on paper and then seem to know the end of the road when I see it.  Every once in a while I see road signs, but normally these are just enough to get me going to the next sentence, the next paragraph, the next page.  These road signs never tell me my destination.

I wander through thought and muddled phrases.  My thought process is rather a whirlwind of senses rather than words.  I’m not sure how other people think.  Maybe I should ask.  It isn’t until I start writing down these wild senses though that I can figure out what they mean.  Words appear on the page without them forming in my head.  After I finish writing I can read it again to determine what I was thinking before.

I think a lot.  I write a lot.  I have had ideas for blog posts to try to put up, but they aren’t ready yet.  I still have ideas to put in them.  I still have to figure out what they mean.  I assume they’ll be put up on the blog eventually, when the time is right.  I’ll do my best not to forget.  More likely though, when its time for them to be put up, I’ll end up writing them again.  Things always seem to come together at the time they’re suppose to.

 

What is in a name?

What's in a name? That which we call a rose
By any other name would smell as sweet.
Romeo and Juliet: Act 2 Scene 2

What makes words so difficult sometimes?  Why can it be so hard to put a thought into these thousands of words that we call the English language?  Or even any language for that matter?  It seems like the more words we have access to, the harder it can be to put our thoughts into these words.  Perhaps our thoughts are more complicated than the language we speak?  Perhaps I can only speak for myself and ought to stop using plural pronouns.  Regardless the thought does stay the same.  Thoughts can seem to be a different language completely from any spoken language.

Regardless of if I am the only one who experiences this problem or not, I now invite you to laugh as I have created a blog, in which I plan to express this jumble of thoughts in my head, in those very English words which cannot speak the same language as the thoughts in my head.  What lovely logic is this.  I suppose if nothing else this shall be practice in mingling the two languages into the formation of a working translation dictionary.  Perhaps this blog, with a lot of practice, will make it easier.  Only time, and future posts, will tell the tale.

That leads to another issue.  What am I going to be writing about?  Truth be told, I have no idea.  Day by day, week by week, perhaps even, though hopefully not, month by month I’ll be figuring out what I’ll be writing about.  Perhaps I’ll have topics to write on, or I’ll just search for a random topic from somewhere in the depth of my conscious or subconscious.  Maybe I’ll go to oneword* and see if I can write something based on the word of the day.  That would likely result in something interesting, if nothing else due to the randomness of the words.

As ideas are drawing to a close, due more to the hour of the night than to the emptiness of the mind, I believe I shall end it here.  Though, I plan to try to get on and write something should the ideas present themselves.  Time shall tell.  Time shall tell.

*http://oneword.com