I write, because I am
WHEN I say I can write, of course, I don’t mean that I’m able to create awe-inspiring prose.
I mean literally that I can put hand-to-pen & paper, scrawl with a pencil, or punch keys on a computer. I, the man-being, know how to form words, a sequence of letters that carry specific meaning. Yes, by God I know how to do that!
Words. Are. Power.
The written word separates human beings from animals. The dead speak through written words. Books, for example, are the way dead authors can communicate with the living. Stephen King had written in his memoir that writing was likened to telepathy, a kind of mind transfer of images and ideas.
I write, because I can.
I’m compelled to write about topics, or anything really, because of some hidden motivation to reach out and touch someone. I guess some people satisfy this need by going to clubs or chatting online; Facebook and Twitter come to mind. But these things are fast, punchy ways of interacting with other people.
Me, I see writing as a process of talking to myself. In this way, writing validates the internal conversation I have inside my head. Oh, it is noisy! Though on the outside I’ve been told that I’m quiet; not the talkative type, usually.
I can spin a tale. Yes, even hold a conversation for hours if I need to. It’s a part of my profession to communicate well. I’m not a recluse. And I think with a bit of self-reflected humility, I think I get along quite nicely with my peers.
I’m an iceberg (bad cliche). I think….most of what I say or express outside of writing is just the tippy surface. There is so much more that comes out of me when I jot it down on paper (or a computer screen as I’m doing here). It’s as though sentences simply form right after the other when I start to write.
Why do I write?
Really, when I think deeply about it: I write, because I am searching for something more. Writing is a process of discovery. Maybe I’m in the right profession — a neuroscientist and writer compelled to discover.