I’ll do my personal best to explain to myself and perhaps a reader or two why I write. If I went through my life and experienced a world of emotions and heart-throttling experiences…and felt something, substantial or minuscule, then what? What becomes of that? It’s the question I ask myself. It lingers, I guess.Humans have succeeded for so long, in my opinion, by their tendency to document events and other things, to make sure they don’t repeat themselves, and chart faborable outcomes. for me, a former science major, writing fiction is the ultimate experiment and chronicle of what I think should be the most interesting thing, your own life.
I think it was Jack Kerouac who put it very well, stating that he sought to explore his psyche (something to that effect). I love that explanation. I often wonder why I am the way I am, and I’ve come up with that the deeper thoughts, the dormant ones that reside within me, are best shown in my writing. The more I know about myself and my thoughts and abilities, the more successful I can be.
I’ve noticed how unemotional and emotional I can be, or maybe ‘expression’ is a better word here. Maybe I should have used that word with my ex-girlfriend when she was highlighting her keen observation that I was unemotional, and indifferent. I don’t hate anyone for affixing labels. We’re human, and we poke and prod. We’re machinist addicts of discovery. No I didn’t edit this.