Write and Wrong

Write and Wrong

   What is it that makes some people write?  Is it a need or a desire, a talent or an urge to be heard?  Some go on to write that "great novel," while others give up or never start.  And for some, writing seems to come easily while for others it is a puzzle that seems as difficult as building a house.

   For me, I was drawn back to the words of author Heather King, a former alcoholic, addict, cancer-survivor, lawyer, one who gave it all up to become a writer.  Here's how she put:  It is a difficult balance, to be driven --you have to be driven to write-- and patient at the same time, and I was constantly straining to spped up, move faster, think things through...we are so trained to think things should happen quickly, when in fact it does seem to take years for any kind of psychic change, or work that's important to us, to come to fruition, to stay with it long enough for it to come to fruition is a feat.  So when it comes to writing, instead of waiting, we give up, or rush into a different action.  Or we compare ourselves to others and despair, or think we're freaks because we're alone, or start gulping psychotropic meds.  Which I mention only because the thing to do, apparently, is continue to write--even though it seems as if you don't know how to do it, and are making no progress, and nobody's interested, and it's almost unbearably lonely.

   Author King (the above was taken from her book, Redeemed, which I had mentioned in an earlier post) goes on to mention writers fighting debilitating health odds, Dennis Potter "suffered his entire career from psoriatic arthropathy, a disfiguring and excruciatingly painful condition that --with the help of gargantuan quantities of alcohol, nicotine, caffeine and morphine-- fueled a streak of creativity I could only view with the deepest awe and respect."  Once his condition made him unable to hold a pen, he strapped the pen onto his hand and continued writing (sadly, he was diagnosed with inoperable cancer and passed away, but not before finishing his last two works and starting another).

   So what is the drive, whether an artist or humanitarian, preacher or mogul.  There is something in our human condition that, at least for some, seems to be a drive that can't be quelled.  Perhaps it is a drive for money or fame or recognition, but then many never succeed in that quest.  Perhaps it is a drive for validation, from others or from oneself...but again, many will never succeed.  My personal feeling is that it is simply a need, a need to put something down, to leave a mark, even one that might never be seen, to say this small part of me was my thinking at the time, my feelings at the time, my life at the time.

   Adds author King on being a writer: Nobody but a pathological martyr, loner, alcoholic, drug addict, sexually conflicted, chronically depressed social misfit and/or religious fanatic could possibly stay with it long enough to write a single decent page.  You have to be emotionally, spiritually, and physically fit; have to order your whole life around your writing schedule; have to develop the emotional hide of a rhinoerous to not simply die, as one does under a stoning, beneath the endless barrage of insult, humiliation, rejection, disappointment, failure.  And at the same time the only reason you do it at all, or can do it, or want to do it, is because of the incredibly tender heart, this heart you're a little ashamed of, that makes you different enough in the first place that writing is really your only refuge, your only means of enduring the world.

   Some weeks ago, I purchased some 100 bound notebooks, stuck a pen in each, and dropped them off at one of the outdoor homeless shelters (the people who run the shelter had told me that things such as postcards, pens, and writing pads are always in demand).  They put 25 of the booklets out...gone within a minute.  The next 25 went out...gone.  Before more than a few minutes had passed, all 100 of the notebooks had been taken.  That made me think.  Perhaps with time on one's hands, these people had a lot to think about, to put down on paper.  Some of them might be mere notes jotted down, lists of things to do, observations of what happened that day.  Some might be true budding writers, finally have a way to set their reflections on paper.  And for some, it might just prove to be a saving grace, an outlet to help stop them from going crazy, that someone --maybe not, but maybe someone-- was or would listen to what they had to say.

   Next time, maybe carry an extra notebook or two stuffed with a pen, and have them ready in your car or in your bag.  And when that someone stops you to ask for change or a bite to eat, hand them the notebook.  You might be surprised to find that their smile is one of recognition, one of being saved of sorts, one of deepest thanks.

P.S. On a different note, there is simply too little time but you DO still have time to join the Climate Walk where an expected 100,000 will show their concern for our changing climate and its dangerous consequences.  For more videos, background and more info on how you can both be there and or add your name to the list, click here.