Currently a student at Emerson College, Class of 2014. BA Writing, Literature and Publishing. Specializing in Creative Writing, Book Design, and Editorial.
You write.
You write and you write, and you try to think of something to write, and you write of the struggle. You write of the tingling in your fingertips, the electric feel of a narrative that longs to be pressed out by those fragile extensions of your very subconscious. “Let your fingers do the talking.” As if they could even understand the thoughts skipping about in my head.
There is a sudden stillness that happens. That almost frightening slowing of time, the sign of a story being formulated, calling every other thought or function in the brain to a halt. You can feel your heartbeat throughout every inch of your body then, as if you were a time bomb, ready to spill out every single infinitesimal thought that has ever crossed your mind, falling out into this one very work that could possibly spell the end to your worry or anguish or even begin relief or happiness. Or it may not do anything at all but leave ink stains on the page.
(source)
And that wrenching. Oh, the wrenching in your soul when something begs to be written. Everything tightens up—a coil being wound around a spindle, hugging the walls of sanity so very tightly. As our bodies climax, our natural instinct is to maintain control. Maintain a balance. Perhaps this is what the out-flowing of words does when the pen touches the paper or the fingers to the keys or even the voice to the microphone (because what difference does it make if it is spoken or scribed?). Little do we know that homeostasis can really only be reached after a release. At least, for those who believe in love, anyway.
Your rational thoughts hold so very tightly to your conscious, blocking out any sort of imagination possible. Nowadays, everything is precise. Everything is. The monitor in front of you is there, the numbers, the letters, the codes and colors and music resonating from the speakers: it’s all there. See, with writing, it is as if you are being born again. You are being born into a world that you have not yet discovered. Your eyes are not open. You gurgle through those first few breaths and words because who knows what language this world will want you to speak in? Romantic? Horrific? Realistic?
But see, you never know. You never know what you’re going to get until you do it. So you do it. You write, and you write, and you write of things that you have thought of before, and things you have just realized and have just come to know as great ideas that you want to share with anyone and everyone. And all you know and all you see is different from anyone else’s perspective and anyone else’s train of thought.
All because you write.