“I’ve decided that I am constantly scribbling down words because I am not capable of comprehending a single thought I have in my head. My word throw-up is my thoughts wanting to get out.”
There it was. Written when I was 16 years old. My answer. While incredibly non-poetic, my “word throw-up” a.k.a. my body of written work, was my way of understanding. Understanding the world around me and understanding myself. Everything I have ever written, fictional or not, has been an attempt at interpreting my own life and how I view the world.
I write to understand.
There it is. Both my answer, and my hypocritical statement of purpose.
I’ve spent my life writing, throwing up my words on paper because I am not capable of understanding anything without it. The super cynic has uncovered a passion and is for the first time declaring this to the world. I am out of the closet. I am a writer and I do it because I can’t understand life without it.
Just don’t tell any of my jock friends. I am closeted after all.
Here is to all of us who seek to take that which is indefinable in the world around us and translate that into words on a piece of paper.
Without us, we writers, the world is void of a mirror in which to view itself.