Sunday, August 10, 2014

August 10, 2014
Writing is  a unique endeavor. every character created by the writer is a small piece of our sould. Every line is a small window into our psyche.

Despite these quick visions of a person, they do not represent us in our entirety. They are but small glimpses at a piece of us.

At the end of a piece of fiction, we should be spent mentally, having exhausted ourselves of every ounce of our internal being. Yet, when we put pen to paper once again, that spirit is refreshed anew. All that we put to paper prior is behind us while what we begin to put down the next time around begins the cycle all over again.

Like life, there is a circle of consciousness in writing. There is no way we can create a character, a story, without incorporating some small piece of our soul. Finding a way to do so without permanently losing that soul is much trickier.

I often wonder if this is why writers such as Salinger struggle to make further inroads into their own consciousness. Sometimes, at the end of a project, we come to the dark realization that we have given everything we have; we are spent. With nothing further to give to a particular endeavor, in this case, art, we simply seek other endeavors.

I hope when I get to the end of this project, I have more inside me; I hope that muse comes back with a vengeance and a force never before seen.



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