The second reason is that you are just that deep/important. This one comes with problems though, because half or honestly, probably well over half of the writers out there feel that they fall into this category, and don't. This is why I only write sometimes and not every day like some famous, prolific writers prescribe, I just don't want to be that guy. There is a silver lining to writing like this though, and that is that the writer is actually writing, which is the only way to get better at writing. I have this ongoing problem with this. I won't write until I feel like I have something worth writing. It really is a weakness, and I know that I will have let go of my inner perfectionist to get better. It's something I am working on.
The third reason to write is to understand, and that is absolutely where I find myself now. Some people understand through conversation. I have some very good, and very smart friends that understand the world through this method. They are brought to life through ideas being tossed around, bounced off of each intellect and back to them. It is a good way to understand the world. Many news segments are approached in this way, with a small collection of vocal people talking through a subject. Some very famous authors, think Shakespeare, actually wrote in this way. But I am not that way. Actually, I find that process a little terrifying. There is just too much to think about. Is the person that I am talking to interested in what I am saying? Are they honestly interested or just nice? Were they interested but are becoming less so? Am I interested in their replies or just humoring them? The questions just branch out from there and all of them drag me down in those few brief seconds while the conversation is actually happening. My mind is elsewhere. Writing affords me the luxury of dismissing the listener. If the person reading what I have said isn't interested, they can just not buy my book, or they can stop reading after a few sentences. No harm, no foul. Writing, for me, is self-absorbed in that way. There are many writers that function in this way. Want to take a fun thought trip? Look up "Writing Shed" on google images and infer what is being said by that solitary architecture. I really like writing sheds.
For introverts like myself, those conversations are good because they pull us out of our heads, and that is important. But they are always work, always draw energy away instead of add to it. I remember in high school, on the many occurrences where I found myself in trouble. Nearly every time I was assigned in-house detention, "sent to the rubber room." I found that aside from the public shaming of being sent away and the snarky remarks from the teacher attendee implying that this one smaller incarceration was a foreshadowing of the larger, life-long one that surely awaited all of us after our graduation, it was something of a positive experience. I would sit in my cubicle, be given a list of the work that was expected of me and a schedule of when lunch would be served. After the shame had worn off, there would be this odd but strong sense of relief. I knew what I had to do and I could just sit and do my work, which was inevitably of better quality than I generally handed in, and then I could while away the boredom either drawing or reading. Actually, in this government suggested, social isolation I feel that same underlying relief. I love my students, and actually, while "zooming/facetiming" them every morning, I really do feel thrilled to see them there smiling back at me. But even positive interactions, for me, are a draw, and although this virus is a blight and I feel a depth of worry that I have never felt before, there is that small silver lining of respite.
All of this is to say, it is time for me to write again, to work through what is going on around me, to give it voice and to see it in front of me so I can dissect it and share my findings. So, this blog goes on for a while, and my morning walks with my dog Chaucer will be spent rummaging through the loose thoughts thrown around in the cellar of my head, trying to organize them into something that allows me to engage with the new chaos brought to us by this coronavirus.
