Maybe you can relate. My writing stems from two very different predicaments. Both of which, can result in pages upon pages, tracking my own personal history, thoughts and realizations—often left behind on cute little hard drives (I give names to) I get nervous about losing.
The greatest words spill out quickly when I’m full of unadulterated heartache.
Just a few less words are formed under the second condition: traveling. With so much stimulation and experiences to share, I literally pound away at my keyboard and then come to awareness – I’m missing out on whatever else is going on in the foreign land that has so graciously allowed myself to be found in it.
I suppose this makes me a bipolar writer. Meh, no need for labels.
I write when I am alone. Or, feeling alone.
That feeling of loneliness comes from both circumstances. I’m so emotional from rekindling memories of my childhood I must write to meet their needs. I’m so high from traveling the earth, yet deserted in my state of mind; I have to share.
I glance at my computer, or even paper for that matter with aversion when things are regular. It’s not hard to figure out though. When a girl can’t bring herself to write, she reads. And, to the end of the story. Similar to my life requiring balance from sadness to jouissance. A writer knows when to read.
The words are purposes.
The words are maps.
-Adrienne Rich, “Diving into the Wreck”