When exactly is that? Clearly only when I am by myself. I find more and more that I don’t write well when others are around me.
Sometimes I feel a strong urge to write regardless of where I might be or who I might be with. I’ve reached a point where I’ve thought so much that I might’ve ended up overthinking something. That is the time for me to stop thinking and start writing.
There’s only so much contemplation and reflection I can handle before I need to carve out some words. When that point has arrived, I don’t care where I am or who I am with, because it is quite simply time to write.
Chances are, however, that it won’t be my best writing. Or even good writing. I may just post it anyway, if it could be part of my blog.
We’re driving through the St Gotthard tunnel right now, music is playing, my head is bursting with thoughts. My brother is driving, my Dad beside him playing with the music, Mom silent beside me.
I don’t feel that this is the best time for me to write, but I needed to get out of my headspace. I’ve been spending a lot of time inside it and I don’t know, if much came of it. I can’t be sure yet.
I’ve been thinking about love and travelling, friendship and my future houseboat. I’ve been thinking about writing, self-reflection, introverts and my day job.
Some of the above doesn’t seem to go very well together. Others are downright mutually exclusive. But there is a thread here and I need to follow it through.
Writing and finding the right time for it will probably pull me through. It’s the only thing that can.
I pulled out my laptop to write, because I needed to. Before I will post this, I’ll have to re-read and edit it. Otherwise it will turn into lazy writing. I’ve done this before. Write out of a sudden need, but not following through, editing little to nothing and posting something that, in hindsight, wasn’t really good enough, thought through enough and potentially lazy.
I end up feeling rather annoyed with myself, because I know I could’ve done better, taken a little more care, be less shallow.
I’m not lazy writer, but I’ve found my writing to be lazy at times. Mostly that happens when I don’t care enough about my subject. Or I am tired and can’t be bothered, but still feel that I owe it to myself to post something, because I’ve not posted anything for a few days.
I don’t live to blog, however. I live to write. Laziness or carelessness are simply not an option.
Maybe I won’t always be able to find the right time to write. In that case I may have to learn to make the time I have right. And I need to take the time to make my writing right.
I need to learn patience as well. Especially with myself. But potentially others as well, because I don’t take kindly to being interrupted in my writing and it doesn’t matter who it is, when or why they’re interrupting and what it is I am writing.
I swallow my irritation, but I will feel rather ungracious towards that person and may let it show when the opportunity arises.
I need to accept that writing, for me, requires solitude. Of that I have usually enough, but I don’t always use it to write. In fact, I really don’t use enough of it to write.
And on this note I need to stop writing, because this isn’t a good time at all. Some thinking is in order. I will post this, but when I do, I will have a better idea of where to go from here.
I’ve moved to a houseboat for more than one reason. One was to write, let there be no doubt of that.