Pages

Friday, August 7

I am not a writer.

I'm sure that will become painfully obvious in the days ahead. Writing is, to an extent, like pulling teeth for me. Not that I've ever experienced that, but it sounds painful and complicated. And...prolonged. Which is a strikingly accurate picture of what writing is to me.
It's not that I don't like writing. I love it. Well, okay...I like it. I rarely admit it, but I like it. In certain contexts. I love how writing has the power to organize and preserve thoughts, because I have many of them and I think a few of them are actually somewhat interesting. So I enjoy being able to understand those thoughts better. I also am amazed that we communicate so deeply and quickly through writing. I am fascinated by words and what they mean. I am fascinated by meaning in general. I am fascinated by the life that is expressed in meaning.
Apparently I am easily fascinated.
Anyway. I simply enjoy writing, because I enjoy understanding, because I have an analytical mind. And it's that mind that makes writing painful for me. I will say without hesitation that I am not a creative writer. I do not write, and never have written, stories. I like to stick to facts and opinions of those facts and very organized and logical thoughts in general. So when I write, it takes me a lot of time and a lot of brain because I obsess over what I say until I think it makes sense and is grammatically correct and doesn't sound like something...weird.
Maybe I just need a more fascinating way to mumble to myself.