Every time I watch a beautiful film, I stay up for hours afterwards just writing. Not usually about the film. Not usually about my day. Usually something that I hope to use somewhere else, usually a meandering of thought and language, a selfish experiment that doesn't lead up to anything.
There it is.
Why should I be allowed to spend my time just putting words next to other words in an attempt to make sense of or to imitate the world swirling around me? My doing this doesn't help anyone else - only myself. Should I be allowed to spend this time sorting out my thoughts and making personal discoveries when surely I could be honing a skill that will enhance the lives of those around me?
Ultimately, I wish my writing could influence others. I wish I could express a thought that catches someone's breath and makes them stop on the page. I wish I could share a sentence that would send an innocent reader into a surprised belly laugh. I wish I could create a piece that hundreds or even dozens would experience and be different because they read what I had to say.
But this doesn't happen. Not yet.
I type in still darkness in the wee hours of morning ruining my eyes, I steal two minutes of each hour at work to jot down a phrase that I'll hate myself for forgetting if I don't write it down NOW. It's all very secret because it's still very selfish to me to take this time. Not when you could be working, running, eating, dancing, hiking, socializing, living...because where else am I supposed to get the material to write if I don't go out there and experience it, but by the time I've gone out and participated with this world, when it comes time to reflect and write, I feel like I shouldn't take this time to do that, and it's incredibly presumptuous of me to think that someone might find my words worth reading.
It's a mystery that I'm afraid to explore - I'm afraid that I'll find that writing isn't worth the hours I put in each week when the sole audience is myself, but I need this lifeline so badly. I need this selfish hobby, this selfish dream, this selfish desire. I crave these words, I turn animalistic and cross without putting something to paper. I want to join the ranks of people whose words influence someone else, but here I sit, writing a screenplay in a Google doc entitled "writing. 48." I number the documents that contain words that only I have seen. It contains hours of work for which I have nothing to show anyone.
Maybe one day I can influence someone. But it will always be selfish of me to have written it in the first place.
Kylie, I love reading everything you've written, for years. Even your blog posts about celebrities. You have a way with words that makes me so happy, and I'm excited to see what you do with that. So keep being selfish, because I don't think it is, and I have at least benefited from it. (Especially this piece-- it makes me want to go quietly and secretly write for hours on end like you do).
ReplyDeleteNow I am so curious to see those numbered documents that only you see. I think there is so much power in words, even when those words just describe the mess in your room or the flowers that blossom. I just went to a conference all about writing our stories and the ones that seem to have the least amount of meaning to others are the stories that our grandchildren are going to want to read. I think you can impact someone else without even realizing. So keep writing!
ReplyDeleteI agree... now years after some significant life events happened, it is the everyday mundane things that I wish I would have recorded. And I don't think it's selfish either--I think we are born with inherent talents/gifts, and those are important to our equanimity as human beings. Not just so we have a creative outlet, but so that we feel whole or complete as a person. I find when I ignore my gifts for too long, I start to feel unbalanced; I lose my inner zen, so to speak. So yes, keep doing it!
ReplyDeleteI'm almost jealous of you're compulsion to write. It's a need for you. And anything that's a need, isn't selfish.
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