I sit here ... talking with a friend and memories flit through my mind. Memories from what seems a lifetime ago. Simpler times? No, I can't honestly say that they were. Perhaps less confusing times; but even there, how does one way the confusion of those times against today when so much has changed. Though, the more I think about it, the more I see some things never really change.
All my life, the written word has been perhaps the most powerful thing I could imagine. I've found nothing else that has an equal or even similar effect on me. To say that it can be profound is to say it mildly. Forever, have I envied the ability to bring one's thoughts into a tangible existence ... indeed to even provoke or influence the thoughts and feelings of other people. Perhaps this envy is the root of my enormous appetite for reading. It is the truest and most powerful form of art. Walter Wellesley Smith said "There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and open a vein." If only it were so easy.
Through the years, I've found that I am not blessed with an elequant hand. The difficulty I experience when attempting to write is in heavy contrast to the ease with which I translate the images in my mind. I find that fact odd. When I draw .. the pencil, indeed the entire function of drawing, seems to vanish and there is only the image in my mind and the paper in front of me. Put a writing pen in my hand, however, and it is cumbersome and alien to me. I simply cannot connect the thoughts in my head and my heart to the pen in my hand.
I wish that I could write beyond the mad scribblings in my journals. To put a face to pain, my joy, my anger. But that is not my gift. And so it goes that I forever look at the things I do create with both a touch of disdain and sadness ... and I ask myself .. were I but able, would I trade one for the other?
I sit here ... talking with a friend and memories flit through my mind. Memories from what seems a lifetime ago. Simpler times? No, I can't honestly say that they were. Perhaps less confusing times; but even there, how does one way the confusion of those times against today when so much has changed. Though, the more I think about it, the more I see some things never really change.
All my life, the written word has been perhaps the most powerful thing I could imagine. I've found nothing else that has an equal or even similar effect on me. To say that it can be profound is to say it mildly. Forever, have I envied the ability to bring one's thoughts into a tangible existence ... indeed to even provoke or influence the thoughts and feelings of other people. Perhaps this envy is the root of my enormous appetite for reading. It is the truest and most powerful form of art.
Walter Wellesley Smith said "There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and open a vein." If only it were so easy.
Through the years, I've found that I am not blessed with an elequant hand. The difficulty I experience when attempting to write is in heavy contrast to the ease with which I translate the images in my mind. I find that fact odd. When I draw .. the pencil, indeed the entire function of drawing, seems to vanish and there is only the image in my mind and the paper in front of me. Put a writing pen in my hand, however, and it is cumbersome and alien to me. I simply cannot connect the thoughts in my head and my heart to the pen in my hand.
I wish that I could write beyond the mad scribblings in my journals. To put a face to pain, my joy, my anger. But that is not my gift. And so it goes that I forever look at the things I do create with both a touch of disdain and sadness ... and I ask myself .. were I but able, would I trade one for the other?
I think you write beautifully and with flow; I mean, I never grow tired while reading your lines, even if the blog/comment is long. I have no doubt you have the ability to do whatever you put your mind to when it comes to writing. Maybe it will just come to you if you don't expect too much of yourself and if you don't wish too hard. The same happens to me when it comes to drawing, but I've learned that if I relax and just do it and have fun with it the results are usually much better than if I make a problem out of it.
I think you write beautifully and with flow; I mean, I never grow tired while reading your lines, even if the blog/comment is long. I have no doubt you have the ability to do whatever you put your mind to when it comes to writing. Maybe it will just come to you if you don't expect too much of yourself and if you don't wish too hard. The same happens to me when it comes to drawing, but I've learned that if I relax and just do it and have fun with it the results are usually much better than if I make a problem out of it.
Well, Reliquary, I'd say you have no problem with sentence structure, your ideas seem well, even lyrically, expressed. Was there more you wanted to say? Maybe to communicate qualities of the pain, joy and anger you mentioned?
Personally, I have always been able to write, but it's only been in the last 10 years that my vocabulary for the subtler shades of emotional experience has developed. A major problem to overcome was that, with years worth of so many different unexpressed feelings and some serious emotional issues, everything was bound together into what I can now best describe as inchoate rage. Picking the bundle apart, I found that the simple words often felt like they just didn't do justice to the enormity of what the feelings were doing to me and then how I wished I'd learned to draw, paint, or sculpt better, anything to describe the bleak landscapes of my despair, the boiling cauldron of fury inside, the parched need of loneliness like wandering in the desert with a mouth full of dust, spirit-soaring when I noticed cherry blossom for the first time in years, exhilaration as Saturn V's took me to the moon on a dancefloor and fish-hook pain in my cheeks after a whole day unable to relax my smile.
So, as you see, I discovered metaphor and simile. So much more satisfying than depressed/angry/lonely/hopeful/excited/happy. Finding ways to communicate the seemingly all encompassing feelings, I saw past them and put words to the weird admixture of such situations as noticing the girlfriend of a friend slyly appreciating my arse. I might have said I was pleased but embarrassed, but actually, what began as a warm glow of satisfaction progressed through a kaleidescope of reciprocation, fear, anger, shame, jealousy, dismissal, intrigue and lust. A rainbow chased itself around my mind's spin cycle, finally disgorging tainted white images of her naked with my girlfriend. A scent of soap makes everything seem clean, but my sheets had enough stains already. Practice.
Well, Reliquary, I'd say you have no problem with sentence structure, your ideas seem well, even lyrically, expressed. Was there more you wanted to say? Maybe to communicate qualities of the pain, joy and anger you mentioned?
Personally, I have always been able to write, but it's only been in the last 10 years that my vocabulary for the subtler shades of emotional experience has developed. A major problem to overcome was that, with years worth of so many different unexpressed feelings and some serious emotional issues, everything was bound together into what I can now best describe as inchoate rage. Picking the bundle apart, I found that the simple words often felt like they just didn't do justice to the enormity of what the feelings were doing to me and then how I wished I'd learned to draw, paint, or sculpt better, anything to describe the bleak landscapes of my despair, the boiling cauldron of fury inside, the parched need of loneliness like wandering in the desert with a mouth full of dust, spirit-soaring when I noticed cherry blossom for the first time in years, exhilaration as Saturn V's took me to the moon on a dancefloor and fish-hook pain in my cheeks after a whole day unable to relax my smile.
So, as you see, I discovered metaphor and simile. So much more satisfying than depressed/angry/lonely/hopeful/excited/happy. Finding ways to communicate the seemingly all encompassing feelings, I saw past them and put words to the weird admixture of such situations as noticing the girlfriend of a friend slyly appreciating my arse. I might have said I was pleased but embarrassed, but actually, what began as a warm glow of satisfaction progressed through a kaleidescope of reciprocation, fear, anger, shame, jealousy, dismissal, intrigue and lust. A rainbow chased itself around my mind's spin cycle, finally disgorging tainted white images of her naked with my girlfriend. A scent of soap makes everything seem clean, but my sheets had enough stains already. Practice.
Another question...if you had the ability would you be able to appreciate it in quite the same way?
I think I take my ability to write, to put forward any ideas I have in a concise and logical manner hugely for granted and it is only when faced with people who find expressing themselves hard that I am reminded I am lucky in this. Maybe this is one of the gifts I have been given and instead of wanting what does not come natural, appreciate and use in a positive way that which I have the ability for.
Hm it's easier to think when putting something to other people.
Another question...if you had the ability would you be able to appreciate it in quite the same way?
I think I take my ability to write, to put forward any ideas I have in a concise and logical manner hugely for granted and it is only when faced with people who find expressing themselves hard that I am reminded I am lucky in this. Maybe this is one of the gifts I have been given and instead of wanting what does not come natural, appreciate and use in a positive way that which I have the ability for.
Hm it's easier to think when putting something to other people.
I feel the same way about reading. I do write. I can make characters and tell stories. I just procrastinate about it. I know it's a gift I should appreciate. It's sometimes frightening to see things play out so vividly in my minds eye.
Always though ever since I was little I have loved reading. All of these other worlds to visit and experience. All of the knowledge to gain. It's amazing. The only reason I want to live a long life is so I can read and learn as much as possible.
Maybe soon I'll finish one of my own projects as well.
I feel the same way about reading. I do write. I can make characters and tell stories. I just procrastinate about it. I know it's a gift I should appreciate. It's sometimes frightening to see things play out so vividly in my minds eye.
Always though ever since I was little I have loved reading. All of these other worlds to visit and experience. All of the knowledge to gain. It's amazing. The only reason I want to live a long life is so I can read and learn as much as possible.
Maybe soon I'll finish one of my own projects as well.
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