On Writing

Writing is a funny business. There would be no point if one knew what one was going to say but one must be confident that something will come in order to begin. Something but not what. I think I have in common with others who write this feeling that the content of my mind is hidden from me until I begin to write. This relationship with oneself seems to me to be a characteristic of the writer.

This writing, like other writing, is something of an exploration. In committing myself to words about writing I begin to discover what writing means to me.

Writing can stand for anything here. This is a piece about writing because it says so at the top. I have decided to write about writing and I am. There is something arbitrary about this, but there is also something necessary. I have, in collaboration with others, found a way to begin writing again post-stroke. I am physically unable to write, but I write nonetheless and why this is necessary for me is the content of this post.

Why do I need to write? In order to find out what I am going to say. I don’t know my own mind until I have expressed it. The expression of it requires some form of publicity. I used to preach and this was important to me. I switched to extempore preaching because when I read scripts I found I always disagreed with myself. Extempore preaching had the advantage that I could guarantee my own agreement with myself at the moment of speaking. Any delay would guarantee new thoughts.

This implies that I already think that what I’ve written is wrong.

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