Writing

I realized today that I haven’t actually taken time to write. To be creative. To thrive on everything that I know to thrive on. For a while now, I haven’t been able to sit down. Quite, simply because I don’t have the time. And now I realize that that is just the older version of me talking. As you get older, I guess you don’t have time. Or you don’t make time. I’ve chosen things that have taken time away from it. I don’t want to keep making that mistake anymore because writing is the one thing that I’ve always known how to do. Whether it’s good writing or bad writing, I just always know how to write and write and write and write until I can barely breathe anymore. I find myself here on this bus and all I really want to do is feel the click of each key on this laptop click again and again. And maybe that doesn’t make much sense to anyone, but all I know is that I get a certain pleasure out of being able to put my thoughts out on paper. It’ll be something that everyone gets to see – to read. Or maybe, it’ll be something that I show no one. The crazy thing about writing is that it doesn’t have to be for anyone and it’ll still be just as satisfying.

I’m always entangled in my thoughts. All the time. And sometimes, speaking about it won’t even help. Every now and then, I can’t make sense out of anything and I just decide to start typing. This may be artificial. But I’ll keep hitting the back button and rewriting what I want to say. This is much like a writer’s process – believe it or not, authors don’t just sit down and finish a book overnight like in the movies. Writers tend to work on their pieces for extended pieces of time: fixing, tweaking, rewriting, changing… And it’s in those moments when everything falls into place for me. When I can see what I am feeling in written words, when they come together in a logical way that I can make sense of, that’s when it’s most satisfying.