Sunday 27th August
I can’t seem to stop writing. I sometimes ask myself why. Is anyone really interested in my ramblings? Sometimes I wonder if I am even interested in my ramblings. So, what is it about writing? It is a bit different from speaking, though I am not bad at that either. When you are writing the sentences form in your brain, not as complete and perfect sentences, but as half-formed beginnings, and as your fingers type out the letters one part of your mind is hanging on to those words, thinking about the spelling, the possible punctuation required, and another part of your brain is coming up with the next few words. Of course, it is all pretty seamless and you aren’t really conscious of this split thinking process. I often describe writing as ‘the story writes itself’, which isn’t true – because it is all me. But when I am in the zone it feels as if someone, or some thing else is actually writing the story. I am merely the conduit, the means of getting the words down on paper or screen. My first real book (though I do have reams of writing in dusty folders and boxes in my garage at Walton – so I must have been at this for years) ‘Catherine’s Story’ was written by Catherine. Catherine was of course a construct. She was based on a real woman who I went out with and who actually moved in with me for a few brief weeks back in 1972. But she was the coat-hanger I draped the story around. There are real incidents in the story but most of it is made up. And who made it up, but Catherine. When I was writing it, and during the several re-writes, it was Catherine herself who invaded my brain and dictated the words – I was merely the conduit, the means for her to tell her story, hence the title.
But why do I write? I think really it is a case of incredible self-importance. I simply have to record my thoughts – otherwise they are wasted and lost to mankind forever.
Maybe it is simply so that I don’t forget them either, conscious as I am of slight memory loss as I age. All of us think, and unless we convey these ideas to others or commit to paper they are lost forever. And this blog is invaluable. Not only does it supply me with a huge (hahaha) readership but it is a driver, constantly whipping me into action. Because along with the desire to write is the laziness inherent in us all and any old excuse will suffice, not to do something – like writing. And so from the moment I am awake (and who knows maybe while I am asleep too) I am thinking about writing, and when I have written my little piece, my tiny spit in the wind, I can sort-of relax. Till tomorrow.