Writing

            There’s this thing about writing. It only happens when you don’t want it to. It only smacks you in the back of the head when you’re trying to sleep, or studying for that exam, or trying to be cuddly with your boyfriend. Writing is an impatient, impertinent, little sucker and it’s consistently trying and failing to get written.   

             It makes you think you’re clever. It beguiles you into believing that you’re the only one in the world with ideas as good as yours. I guess that’s the point of the thing, though, right? Because writing is similar to a fingerprint. There are billions of fingerprints, and they all look basically the same, but in a weird way, they are all unique. Writing’s like that. Everyone can write. To the untrained eye, it all looks the same. The fingerprints blend into the skin surrounding it. They’re just words. Paragraphs. Pages. But they’re /not/. It’s so much more than that. It’s the fingerprint of the soul.

          God, that sounds like a cheeseballish thing to say. But it’s TRUE. We can try and write as characters, as different people, as completely fictional people…..yet, somehow, a piece of us always leaks onto the pages, contaminating them with something deeply personal.  A piece that not everyone can find, but when you re-read things, you know it’s there.

           Writing is the part of you that nobody gets to see. Only a blank page can evoke you. It’s the language of the mind: irrational, radical, messy, blunt, and repetitive…..and incredibly breath-taking. Nobody else can write for you. No one else can dig through the recesses of your mind, pull things out of it, and display it on a page for people to read. Writing tries to be tricky and lead you on, but by the end of the sentence or paragraph or page, a grain of truth instills itself deeper into you. Writing can lie to everyone but YOU. Because writing isn’t separated. It /is/ you. So….write.