It was once presented to me that writing with any intention of being read was a masculine act, not in the sense of gender roles but within the frame of procreation. That I, in writing, send out the seed of my thoughts through words, scattering them with little aim (and probably less finesse) to be taken up by friends and strangers alike, the reader taking the feminine role of accepting the gift or curse of my conscious scribblings, adding to it their perspective, interpretation and personal associations to create something new. Each person conceiving a unique thought, as beautiful/horrific as it's components will allow.
This thought was conveyed via a partially epistolary relationship, followed by a phone call to ask what the hell he was talking about.
I have always felt the need to write. I haven't been writing all that much lately, so much so that I begin to suspect myself of avoidance. So here I sit, nimble fingers twitching for the proper adjective to verb it's way onto my screen, experimenting with the Blog.
I intend to write daily but given that personal discipline has never been my forte I suppose we'll see what we get.
No comments:
Post a Comment