I think I started out writing to be read, but somewhere along the way I discovered that by writing, my thinking developed. In speech, it’s more like shooting from the hip, and anything could come out, but writing forces some kind of discipline in how I think. I’m sure everyone will laugh at that, but that’s what it does for me.
Sometimes people tell me that they like my “essays.” They might say that an essay is well-written. It mystifies me a bit as to how that is possible, because when I start, I never know where I’m going to end. Which is why I write to think. Yet, somehow, I must know the points I want to cover and where I want to end. Or do I? If I write to think, then I don’t know where I will end up and I’m not quite sure where I want to go or what route I will take.
But somehow, these pieces of writing often end up somewhere satisfying or complete—or that’s what I think. No one ever said so. I think I write until I am satisfied with where I happen to be. That satisfaction is somewhat arbitrary. I could stop here, for example, or I could take a few steps more because I know there’s something else I want to say, although I don’t know what it is.
The process is more mysterious to me than I realized. It doesn’t feel like some external entity is feeding me words. The words that appear feel more like there is some inner secretary passing on information by teletype (it’s somewhat disjointed). I have the feeling that the inner secretary knows where this is going, but until I write, I won’t know.
As everyone knows, this process can take some time, and I end up with a lot of ground covered before I end up at some resting point. I’ve wondered, in the past, if I should be shortening these pieces. Everyone likes brevity, and internet attention spans are short. So, to please the readers, I should edit. That’s when I realized I was writing to see what I think. I don’t care to edit—too much time in a place where I already spend too much time. If I don’t care enough about readers to edit, then I must be writing to think.
Still, I do want people to read what I say. So it is a challenge to write to see what I think and yet to have the journey be interesting enough that others want to take a ride on the carriage. For me, that means I have to tell a story—a story that has an unknown and unpredictable ending (or stopping place, at least).
I do the same thing in real life. I participate in a number of situations where people take turns talking, and I always challenge myself to talk about what I want to talk about but in such a way that people can understand where I want to go (I hate it when people tell meandering and apparently pointless stories), but can’t figure out where I will get to. They can’t do this, because, as with writing, I don’t even know where I’m going. So I talk until it ends. The story ends, I mean. It almost always does, and it does it in such a surprising way that I never could have planned it. So it’s like I’m watching myself and I know the story will go along until I see a point that wraps it up, and then I press the stop button, and look around to see who’s still with me.
[STOP]
Of course, when writing, it’s a bit harder to see who is still on the carriage.
[No really. STOP!]
[Sometimes the button doesn’t work so well ;-)]
[I said S T O P!!!