In my head, words are perfectly chosen. Phrases? Pithy and erodite. However, somewhere during the journey from brain to hand, those words and pithy phrases get tangled. It’s a frustrating result of too many concussions. I write because I yearn to get the words correct and the thoughts out of my head and down to my hand just as my mind’s eye sees them.
I write because it’s good for me. Even when the writing is bad! My neurologist recently told me that a big part of what makes me, ME, is thinking; so we have to keep working on thinking. I’d never thought of what he said before he said it, and it was startling how spot on he was with that observation. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not all Descart, but his notion of Cogito Ergo Sum, has a place in my world.
There are days when I don’t leave my room, my sanctuary amid the chaos of the assisted living house. My television is never on. The roar of the oxygen tank is about all the noise I tolerate. Writing gives me the opportunity to make some noise in my quit little world.
I write because I hope to one day be good.