I read a post yesterday, at Adventures in Babywearing, that explains, to me, my compulsion to write. Even if I don’t necessarily have anything of any real substance to say.
“You know, so many writers don’t like to write. They must, they do it under the compulsion that makes any artist what he is… but they really don’t enjoy trying to turn a thought into a reasonable sentence.” ~Harper Lee 1964
It’s true. I don’t think I “enjoy” writing, so much as I feel released when I do. It’s cathartic, therapeutic, and even somewhat freeing. “Enjoyable” doesn’t seem quite the right word.
Anyway, Stephanie at the above link just explains it better than I did. And, I just wanted to share some of those little thoughts (akin to the way the green traffic light reflects off the metal in its little hood) that bounce around in my brain, but never seem to make it into type.
Of course, in my early morning, haven’t-finished-my-first-cup-of-coffee fog, I’ve forgotten all those random thoughts that I wanted to share. The ones that are written in my brain, even if they are written nowhere else.
That’s just the way things go, in Albuquerque. (Bonus gold star if you know where that reference comes from.)
Grace & Peace,
Image credit: serc.carleton.edu