# Why do we write? A minor essay for no particular reason.



## thetadpoleangel (Sep 12, 2010)

Why do we write?


​First of all, let me suggest that the existence of such a question in part may serve as the answer. 

]For the written word seeks to find answers, to make sense of, and reshape that which has become deformed and maligned through familiarity and custom. We write on violence for example, to better understand and deconstruct it for the violence it is, and not how it seems.

Writing has proven itself to me time and time again. It has allowed a reckless expression of myself which may not have been realised through any other means; where thought fails, action fails, and the human voice fails writing can provide for us.

I was once asked to make a speech. I’d dreamt of this triumphant moment; impassioned and passionate, decrying the injustices of the proletarian existence, rallying some weary, wounded soldiers so that they all might fly free, and realise their true, formidable selves. I’d hoped to lead my own small revolution.

It never was. No speech. No rally. 

All I was able to do was stand there;  small and vulnerable, and return their indifferent stares with a nervous one of my own. Though they looked to me for something deeper, I could not provide it. I faltered, half muttered some half remembered names and feeble thankyou’s and was gone in a cloud of pain and excuses. I was embarrassed at my own vocal dysfunction. The moment will not be again.

I later went home with a bottle of Shiraz under my arm and hazily wrote the speech I’d intended. It spanned a lengthy  5 pages, made reference to each and every person there, offered humble good-will and best wishes for their future. I acknowledged the hard efforts of my compatriots (maybe the for the first time) and outwardly implored they all find what they were looking for, outside the dull greyness of the office building. 

It was only through writing I could sing the sincere praises of all those who’d journeyed with me and fought with me. The speech rebuked those poisonous souls who threatened to tear dreaming down with malice and deception. I thanked them too, these worthwhile adversaries who taught me so much more than they could know.

We can write as a way of fighting these minor wars. 

There is something permanent and lasting in them, hopes and fears whose force cannot be erased from our ageing minds. Writing is a concrete reminder of where we stood for a time, where we fought, and for whom it was we shed our tears.

Those who are cautious to write are looking at the world as if it were behind a piece of red cellophane. All red. Everything they perceive is red, is it all that is reflected in such a monochrome world. They lose the honest ability to differentiate between one thing and the next, seeing only light and shadow.

This is a world without writing. We write as a way of painting our world, to realise how little of it we know. Perhaps we write simply to better reconcile our un-knowing, and feel ok.

I once suggested to a tired, unloved mother once that if she’d care to, perhaps taking pen to paper could help her make sense of the conflicting feelings of love and hate she was burdened with. What I had really asked her was to face her greatest fears, and herself. The words would be hers, a transfusion of ink and paper that would heal. 

We write to cure our minds ills, to reflect on our honest and unadulterated inner voice. 
A lie to the human face may come easy enough, but the lie to ourselves on a simple piece of white paper may be attempting the impossible; writing is us, it is confronting us. It can challenge the unhelpful beliefs we cling to like a cliffs edge. Who of us could tell lies in their diary? What purpose would it serve?

But to return to our question, I would ask you, why not write?
Such a question to a question may not be our answer, but perhaps it could prompt our own literary deconstruction of our many misunderstandings. Writing; such a simple thing, but can rebuild a complex and fragmented mind. I urge you, write. See what comes.


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## LWilliam (Sep 13, 2010)

Tadpole,
I like your submission. What I like about it most, without attention to punctuation, etc., is what I perceive as your impetus for writing it.

It puts me in mind of an artist who paints a self-portrait, e.g. DaVinci, Van Gogh, who, at least in Vincent's case, probably did so to understand himself. Writing, as you did here and as you urge others to do, is a way to reduce, i.e. deconstruct, our sometimes overwhelming existence/universe from its (at least) 3-dimensional construct to a more manageable 2-dimensional, and therefore more manageable, representation of the individual writer's reality.
(The Physics-minded among us would argue that the paper on which we write, as well as the ink, is ultimately 3-dimensional, as is the artist's canvas but, let's allow, this is a figurative, not literal exercise.)

More important than the activity is the product, a writing that we can then review and modify, if necessary, to understand ourselves, our feelings, our world, our reality. Writing can be a method of word-painting our self-portrait. In a college art class, lo these many years ago, we students were assigned, as our final exam, a self-portrait. The professor studied each submission on its easel. He looked at mine, rubbed his chin a few times, studied it for a few moments and said, "I like it . . . yeah, I like it. You didn't try to flatter yourself!" I was very happy that he liked my painting . . . until I replayed, in my mind, what he said :-s. I suppose a self-portrait in words can be like that - we may not like what we 'see' as we review it. And we may modify it until we like what we 'see' or, more importantly, until it is most accurate. I cannot imagine Leo or Vince rendering their self-portrait without changing something.

As stated, I like your word-painting and the thoughts it can engender. Seems to me it's worthwhile pursuing your thoughts here (okay, maybe polish it a bit) because I think your thesis is worthwhile.

Regards,
Bill


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## Stubborn (Sep 20, 2010)

I agree writing is an act of organization. You define what is is your saying and put it down. By this device maybe you get some clarity. It requires you to prioritize, and leave alot of your experience_ out_, right? I also like the word proletarian. Great word that doesn't get used enough. 

With the speech. Next time drink the wine first, speak second maybe.


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## Draxia (Sep 30, 2010)

Your peice says a lot. Writing is as you put it, is both us and not us. It is an amalgomation of both. It is "either or" and eternal (or we'd like to hope so), or amorphous-- it is both and neither.


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