“I always find it more difficult to say the things I mean than the things I don’t.”
W. Somerset Maugham
Give me a pen and a blank sheet of paper and I will invent a story at any time of day. Not all stories will be interesting, but most will do. I will write without stopping for hours.
But tell me to interpret a significant even in my life, or explain why I hold a certain belief, or write a treatise on philosophy, and I will look worried at the pen and scratch my head. Maybe I don’t have enough experience, or maybe my vocabulary is meager, or maybe lady depression who is always in my attic has befogged my mind.
“I write differently from what I speak, I speak differently from what I think, I think differently from the way I ought to think, and so it all proceeds into deepest darkness.”
― Franz Kafka
Most of my stories and posts on writing end up being different from what I intended them to be. I discover what I believe only after I’ve written it. The written word creates the idea and the belief. I see a great opportunity in that. My writing can shape my mental life, and maybe my physical one too. Scary thought.
In conclusion, dear readers, the boy with a hat has no idea what he is writing, but he much enjoys doing it.