On Writing

Posted on April 14, 2017 by deconstructingdoctor

typefiend-6-1468650-639x426I think if one considers themselves a writer, they have a deep desire to peck out the great novel on an old fashioned typewriter.  Now this does not mean you are not a writer if you don’t have this desire.  There is something about the tactile quality, the loud clacking forward and back of the metal hinges with the letters attached at the top, the metal bar at the end of the paper roll that you hit and swing the whole thing back to the beginning. It’s lovely and mechanic.  It’s loud and slow.  Methodical.

I haven’t used a typewriter in like a hundred years.  The last one I had was electric.  It was missing all the charm of the old, heavy metal typewriters.  It was grey and plastic.  Quite depressing.

All the great writers likely used the antiquated typewriter.  How they must have labored over it, pounded all of the keys at once in frustration, or when they were on a roll, their fingers flew effortlessly with a delightful rat tat tat.  The machine, an extension of their minds, allowing the words bound up inside to finally be set free.

I have often thought about what it means to be a writer.  If I were to call myself one, I would say it is akin to some kind of infection.  A deep seething infestation that bubbles and churns, grows into an abscess of sorts and needs to come to the surface.  It has to come out.  Then you just feel better.

I could also equate it to an event I experienced with my son.  Writhing in pain, grasping at the abdomen, my oldest breathless and sweaty, Oh my stomach, it hurts sooo BAD!  He is simultaneously wincing and crying, his arms wrapped around the source of pain.  This is serious!  When all of a sudden, he lets loose the biggest fart of all time.  He smiles with great pride and bounds off to play.  The thoughts of it must be an appendicitis, we better get to the hospital, still lingering in the air, like his giant fart.

That is writing.  It can’t be helped.  It can’t be stopped.  It must be let loose.  And then you feel better.  For a while.

Photo credit:  Chris Howell

This entry was posted in My Stories and tagged , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

16 Responses to On Writing

  1. montaymd says:
    April 20, 2017 at 3:28 am

    … for a while. Touché

    Liked by 1 person

  2. houstonphotojourney says:
    April 16, 2017 at 12:59 am

    You just cracked me up at the end!!

    Liked by 1 person

  3. 2ndhalfolife says:
    April 15, 2017 at 9:45 pm

    I watched a weird movie recently where a writer (it was suppose to be Hemingway) typed a book he had been suffering over on an old fashioned typewriter. In a moment of heated anger and passion, his wife decided to burn the only copy!! He, of course, wanted to murder her. It made me think how different times are with all the copies and easy ways to replace things we write now, should we even mistakenly (stupidly) delete (not burn) something precious and amazing we happen to write. We could maybe retrieve it from the cloud at least, or beg Microsoft/Apple or something to get it back for us…and maybe promise them some cut of our millions when we go viral. 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

  4. drugopinions says:
    April 15, 2017 at 7:24 pm

    Somehow you and I think on the same wavelength at some level. You wrote about running when that topic was what I was pondering at the time. And your new post on “On writing” is the exact same post title I just created few days ago. My focus is slightly different but nonetheless about writing. It is still in my draft folder.. but just got me thinking… I will try to finish it one day. But great post about writing!

    Liked by 1 person

  5. Dacian says:
    April 15, 2017 at 10:04 am

    Nice post! So true

    Liked by 1 person

  6. Kathy Chenault -- World Witness says:
    April 15, 2017 at 3:24 am

    Indeed, it has to come out. The writing. And then all is well. For a while. Before it starts again. And Again.

    Liked by 1 person

Comments are closed.