On Writing

Why do I feel the need to be entirely alone--no lonely--when I write. I wrote so much more when I was in Utah--talk about lonely. If you want to be lonely move to eastern Utah for 365 days. It starts snowing in October and doesn't stop until late April!! Anyway, somehow in Hays I have put together a good life and have a few good friends--and for some reason I don't have the NEED to write like a did before. Although this is starting to change, I am feeling the excitment to write again, despite having just finished a book.

I'm just not sure what makes someone want to spend their life writing. Perhaps insecurity or some form of social awkwardness, but regardless of the cause, this is what I've chosen to do devote my life to. A life of lonliness, confined to a with nothing but pen, paper, computer, and books?? To most this sounds like the definition of boredom. To me, this is like living life a second time around. Hey, I know it's unlikely that anyone will ever truly know someone else, but writing provides an avenue not only into my derranged psyche, but also that of my friends--who seem to be the source of so much of my ficiton writing. I am obcessed with writing--hell, even reading books about writing better. Perhaps in a past life I was some monk in a lonely monestary with nothing to do but write about devotion to god.

It seems that creativity whether written, visual, or audio is something in the blood--some primal force that moves us; not only to create for ourselves but for others. I seem to have found a way to follow my obcession and get paid for it--sure there's other work that often gets in the way, but life as an historian has allowed me to follow this odd passion. Where did this passion come from? How did it develop? How did all of these words find thier way into my soul? Sometimes it just feels like there are so many words, so many stories and not enough time to write them all. So much passes into the hazy mists of history--past, memory, whatever. I have so much to say--like so many others--and fear that in the end no matter what, everything means nothing.