Secret Blog 12

All this talk about dreaming is making me think a little.  I’ve never understood this well.  I think the trickiest part of writing is imagining things that aren’t real and then trying to believe in them long enough to be able to write some believable thing and then you’ve gotta bounce back out of the imaginary world to the real world where you have to remember to eat and act normal to people and all this.

I seem to lose myself in my imagination to where I don’t know where I fit in my real life.  I probably don’t have one.  It’s mostly all geared to where I can write more.  And writing is my escape so… maybe I’m always on that strange precipice between my real life and some imaginary thing.  I just bounce back and forth though for me it’s  not too far of a distance. 

I think this is required for writing.  Creativity.  But it’s also something that I feel very insecure about.  It seems potentially crazy in a way.  Creativity requires a part of your brain that isn’t initially rational or logical.  You have to “suspend your disbelief” to think that scribbling on paper or typing on a computer screen is a good thing.  I have to (strangely) set those things aside so I can write (rationality and logic).  But then when I’m done writing I have to come back and remind myself to be rational and logical again.  And sometimes it all just blurs together.

And thinking about this back and forth thing all the time is making me feel confused.

I think that my style of writing isn’t straight factual like a journalist.  I’m allowed to play around with facts (as long as they’re not real facts).  But at the same time my writing style is not completely imaginary.  It’s somewhere in between I think.  Like, I don’t take myself seriously like I would take a reporter seriously.  But I do take my imagination seriously.  I do take the art and the craft of it seriously.  

I know this all sounds like gobbledygook.  I’m trying to be conversational but I’m afraid I might be losing some people with all of this wacky talk. 

See, this is what happens.  I will spend a little time writing.  I’ll do it for a couple of hours and I’ll get kind of lost in the whole thing.  And it gets some good pages out of me.  But then I’ll quit and suddenly I’m back in the regular world where I don’t have control over anything.  When I’m writing I can make choices and have people do certain things.  But then when I put the paper down it stops working like that.  I’ll find myself getting deeply and ridiculously bothered by something and then when I think about it I’ll realize how stupid and inconsequential it is.  It all kind of freaks me out.

I can’t tell if I’m talking about this for my own therapy or if I’m hoping that others can connect and find a little relief.  I am quite sure other writers experience something similar to what I’m talking about though I’ve never really had a conversation with anybody about this stuff.  It seems so crazy.  I think being an artist is a little crazy.  It just doesn’t make sense a lot of the time.  And when you’re done writing something, what you have finished (the story, the poem, the song or whatever) might seem inconsequential to most everybody else.  It’s like, “What? That’s what you were trying to make whenever you were acting all spacey and mean?”  


Maybe I just need to remember that art is a good and healthy thing.  It adds to the beauty and enjoyment of life.  I don’t know why making it can be so stressful.  Sometimes I can’t tell if it’s even worth it.  I don’t know.  It’s not really very important.  I mean to worry about this sort of stuff.  

Hmm… I don’t even care anyway..

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