Piece elephant Venice hanger red coffee blah book wish no tree.
Does that mean anything to you?
No, it’s just a collection of words.
To me, there’s a fear that comes with writing. Writing is, at its most basic level, arranging words in a certain order; the collection of words which opens this post, for example. But those words don’t mean anything coherent to anyone. So the way in which a writer selects certain words, and where they choose to put them, and the time they take to reveal them – that’s writing. It’s a small thing, really. But it’s a frightening thing nonetheless. As I’ve said in an earlier post, writing and reading come together to form a certain kind of telepathy, or communion. So when I write these words, I’m opening up a space for that; and when you come to read them, you’re responding to that. Or not. And therein lies the fear.
So it’s a promise I’ve made to myself, this year, to put that fear away, and to write with courage.
I promise you, though, that I’ll try and refrain from too many I’s.