Why Writing Drives the Writer Insane

Writers do not really know what to write about. When we feel like we have to write, we just write even if we have no freaking idea what we like to write about. This isn’t about lack of inspiration or drive. Sometimes it is. But oftentimes it’s due to an abundance of it. I mean, there are so many beautiful things and happenings a day has to offer– a new book by your favorite author, an unplanned date with your best friend, your parents’ wedding anniversary and so much more countless little joys that make every split of a second worth living. You have feelings about everything and those feelings change as quick as only-you-can-tell. Which feeling do you cater to first? And how do you focus on a feeling that is as fleeting as your breaths?

If you’re a fiction writer, how do you know if this time around you’re going to write comedy instead of tragedy? If you’re a poet, how do you know which persona and voice to take on? Maybe we’ll never really know the answer. Maybe art… just happens. Maybe we just need to start and find the will to carry on.

Writers do not know why they’re saying what they’re saying. Maybe you’re writing because it’s your job or it gives you money and fame. Maybe you write because it’s the only way to release your repressed emotions. Maybe you write for a person. Maybe that person is yourself. Maybe you write just because you like to write. Is there always a reason for writing? YES. Must that reason be known at all times? NO. Art isn’t about reason; it is about sense. Maybe it’s okay to not know the reason as long as things make sense.

Writers do not really know how to say and when to say what they want to say. There is so much more than the written word. For the readers, only a period separates two statements. Only the writer understands the huge gap between the two– how three blocks of paragraph used to be there before he cleared them out thinking they’re irrelevant and dragging; how a period evolved into being a comma and then into a semicolon, and then back to being a period again; how a lot of feelings and ideas could hardly be put to words. And so the writer would somehow feel like he is lacking ’cause part of him feels like his work is not and will never be complete. But the beauty of art is this: when you cannot trust yourself; you can always choose to trust your work instead.

Ultimately, the mastermind behind the masterpiece is a mad man.

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