What street did I grow up on? Favorite author? Name of first boss? Something in my consciousness just rubs every time I’m asked to answer personal questions for the sake of account security. Not really all that important- right? I just can’t help mentioning it, pet peeves are interesting. What’s your dream job? Okay, I thought, looking at the word I’d typed- writer! Awesome, photography is my thing and yet without a moments hesitation- writer!
Writing is a simple pursuit. Alls it requires is a stream of consciousness, thoughts strung together. Where it streams from and is connected to determines its force and presence. I mostly talk to myself. It’s like coming out to play. A child sees a shiny rock, rushes over to pick it up. Examining it’s underbelly…. delicate moss or gritty sand, even tossing it away fearful of the crawly thing that’s hidden. I like the discovery of simple things.
Anton Chekhov said “Don’t tell me the moon is shining; show me the glint of light on broken glass.” I want to know life and experience its refined form. Like a sweet kiss to the forehead, an arm across a shoulder, a hand stroking hair; writing is intimate, maybe not the words, but writing isn’t about words is it?
I like knowing how people see things, though it isn’t about being clever. The world is full of clever people. When I can know something different about the world seeing it through another’s eyes, I get excited. The vast knowledge of who we are and our capabilities when shared cross-pollinates in profound ways. Self-discovery is like that too, which is why writing to learn is so potent.
Today I’ve given in to the constant urge. I hope this is a beginning.