Thinking About Writing

I guess, in the world, there are a lot of writers. And I’m guessing that a lot of them are probably unsuccessful, whether that’s their fault or not.

I was reading an essay the other day. The author was talking about what it takes to be a writer, and what you have to give up for writing. Spare time, red meat… Stuff like that. Luxuries, I guess. And I thought, what if after all that, you’re unsuccessful, you’re… gasp… bad?

So I’ve been thinking about that. The author didn’t ask you what you have to give up to be a successful writer. It was merely what you have to give up to write.

The reward of writing, maybe maybe, maybe it’s not necessarily succeeding. Maybe it’s just WRITING, just having had the privilege to write.

Does that make sense? That writing is its own reward?

The simple act of putting words down on paper changes me. As the writing scrawls its way across the page, I can visibly see something tangibly change because of me. I’m changed by seeing the change that I’m causing.

The words themselves, though, are so much greater. The ability to communicate – the ability to make others see, hear, feel, understand, THINK what we’re seeing, hearing, feeling, understanding, THINKING – is so WONDERFUL. Out words, our language… We have such a brilliantly full way to express ourselves through words.

With words, I can place my thoughts inside your head.

The ability, the privilege, of writing, speaking even, is so great and wonderful and gorgeous and worthy of awe that I feel like singing. Aren’t you glad you can READ?

I am.

Sometimes words are so wonderful that isn’t it just amazing that we share a planet with their author? When Markus Zusak speaks, his words go into the same air I’m sucking in right now. The ground that we stand on holds SHAKESPEARE and CHARLES DICKENS somewhere! ISN’T THAT AMAZING?!

It’s so exciting I’m shivering – shaking – with joy and awe and WONDER.