I could easily let Joan Didion‘s words speak for me as they simply do, but I’d be remiss to use this spot not to elaborate just how this is the case.
Since the dawn of my time, I’ve kept a diary, journal whatever one may call it now. It captures my thinking to process the whats, whys, and helps to discover the hows that may need to follow.
If I’m not writing fiction, I’m clearing my head through my fingertips. It relieves the over-saturation of life clustered in one big ball in my mind, my head, my full-on brain. Migraines and basic headaches do live there occasionally, so the words being knocked away from that glowing mass of pain can help to ease it. So even if the daily headache has taken a break from me for a day or so, writing still offers solace and a cushion just for me on a whole. It keeps me level, from feeling I’m about to keel over on either side of myself or even backwards or flat on my face.
Utter discomfort on the other hand comes through fiction. There are thoughts I don’t wish to see in print, yet, they manage to find their way through characterization. I’ve learned to actually honor those moments – since, while I’m still tethered to them, I’ve gotten power over them; they’re not paralyzing. They’re all in front of me and I either write what’s there without a filter or move them all around like marionettes with my full control over the action and outcome. It’s those raw, Jackie Collins moments, where I let shit fly and that’s when I’m at my writing best.
In all cases, I’m writing.
How does writing help you? Do you write to process life too? Please share in the comments. If not, try it and feel free to let me know the feeling for you in the comments, too.
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