A blank page is thrilling
It scares the crap out of me. In return, I throw down words on a blank page, and I usually don’t know where they will lead me. Brain-mind dumping is how I usually need to start writing. This is my approach.
I’ve come to hate writing with outlines. I continue to do it because I need to write in such a way for my career. But, the real joy is encountering a blankness ready to be built upon by nothing except a bit of imagination splashed on it; watching from afar as an essay or story comes to life.
When I write without concern for an ending, I find I cannot maintain my train of thought for a particular concept for longer than 800-1000 words. I fade. Written creations like this are like a sand castle. You can build only so high before the gravity of the situation, a counter-tension that pulls down ideas or those internal arguments back to Earth, overwhelms you. You get slammed by your own Train of thought.
To get anything more on paper requires an internal support or skeleton. Long pieces of writing requires patience and foresight. Yes, we require the dreaded framework of outlines, no matter how vague or rigid.
The overall writing process is revealing
Grain by grain, a writer composes a phrase, a sentence, a tome, but doesn’t realize when they stop that they’ve actually made a connection with something else; more than the meanings and connotations of their ideas put on a page. They’ve come into contact with what freedom really is: being able to move freely while having thy feet planted firmly on a solid place to stand.
I find everyday when I read and ponder upon what a piece of writing or literature means, I sometimes notice subtle but intriguing clues into the nature of the authors’ mind. Though a writer doesn’t purposefully inject an idea or assumption within their work, it comes through quite clearly. As an author (or writer), it takes something out of you, and you don’t quite realize it.
You can’t hide who you are for very long when you write a lot
That is when I know I’ve found a good piece of writing; when the writing is simple, clear, and honest; there is underneath all of the meanings and context and prose, a blade of grass growing under a rock, that crystalline bit of information that makes you go “whoa” because it made so much sense, and it takes you a moment to steady yourself as you try and figure out what exactly made life seem a bit simpler.
You take a vague and intangible thing, a handful of water, shapeless, and cup it in your hands and turn it into this new and solid structure that communicates more than what its original elements could ever do without your intentions. And I find that this was how My World might have come into existence….
It began with a grain of sand, or a single Word.