Writing and Thinking
I bought a laptop in order to write more. Write what, I don’t necessarily know yet and because of this I’ve dithered around for a couple of days finding ways to avoid the flashing cursor. When you’ve forgotten how to do something you just have to jump back in, don’t you? It won’t look pretty but it’s a start.
For a while now I’ve felt an urgency to get back into the
habit of writing. I fear that if I don’t return to the habit of putting words
on a page, I’m going to lose the skill entirely and, in the years to come I
know I’ll regret it. At this stage, I have vague ideas about which direction I
want to take my writing in. I know I want to write about my days, particular
moments with the children, responses to something I’ve read, watched or
listened to. I want to use this space to untangle the knots in my head and work things out on the (metaphorical) page.
The goal is to develop my skill as a writer and hopefully
chart an improvement along the way. I want to practise writing clearly,
describing something well, expressing my thoughts, knowing my thoughts.
Flannery O’Connor’s words come to mind: “I write because I
don’t know what I think until I read what I say.” C.S. Lewis said the same: “I
don’t know what I mean until I see
what I’ve said.” This resonates with
me because I see thinking and writing as a connected process and one that I
have ignored in recent years.
It feels like a very indulgent activity, a glorified diary of sorts,
but clarity of thought is worth pursuing. Our lives move at a hectic pace and I
don’t see that changing any time soon, so what does one do to resist? I see writing
as a way to slow down and build margin into my days. It helps me find the quiet.
Right now, I’m sitting at my desk which was once an older relative’s potting
table. It’s weathered and stained but I love it. It sits against the wall nearest
the sliding door to our back deck. It’s cool today so I’ve only opened the sliding
door a little way but it is enough to feel the fresh breeze on my arm and hear
the birds calling to each other. Occasionally I’ll hear a dog bark, a power
tool whir or a car drive past. Inside I hear the steady hum of the oven as it
cooks another carrot cake. It doesn’t seem like much but they are the sounds of
home, comfort and peace.
This is why I'm here again in this space. It won't be pretty as I reorient myself but it's a start, isn't it?
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| The view from my kitchen window this morning. |
