So I'm changing the dosage.
The idea follows from this short conversation:
First, my longing to write is a powerful urge that flows over my being periodically, in waves of nostalgia, angst, and grief. I have known from a very early age that my love for writing will be with me until the day I die. Writing was my "tell" for giftedness, the spark my teachers saw that made them think, "Aha, this girl is something else." It is something that's in my blood, something that is part of my identity even when I have not written for a very long time. To say that I'm a writer is not to say that I write things professionally or as a hobby. It is to say that it is something I need, as much as a plant needs to bask in sunlight.
Second, the realization that it's so difficult for me to dictate my writing came as a revelation. I know that my S.O. could readily dictate his writing, because he speaks like he writes, in wholly formed thoughts, laid out beautifully each time with carefully-selected words that have an unimaginable amount of thought behind each one. When he does write something, the idea of revision is scandalous to him. The revision has already been done, he just didn't need to show his work, so to speak. But he is an intellectual savant, his brain an extremely efficient idea machine. If we were both successful mathematicians, he'd be the one who never needed to show his work, with nary a thought about the problem before the correct solution presented itself to his mind. I, however, need to do the long division.
It is not that I'm less capable of understanding these thoughts and ideas, simply that it takes more work for me to get to them. And for me, it's work I don't mind doing, even enjoy. I take satisfaction not simply from knowing the solution to the puzzle, but from the process of solving the puzzle. He cannot even begin to tackle a thousand-piece jigsaw puzzle, whereas I become completely absorbed in the process. I feel comfortable selling off finished crafts, because it is the crafting process I crave, not the finished product itself. I am a maker, a builder, a doer. A thinker, yes, but for me thinking is impossible with idle hands. My S.O. may devour thoughts whole like a ravenous snake, but I nibble the edges and play with my food.
And writing IS my process. It is the bed for my restless mind, the sedative to my anxiety, the happy pill for my depression. It is my cure, and I need to start taking my medicine.
Second, the realization that it's so difficult for me to dictate my writing came as a revelation. I know that my S.O. could readily dictate his writing, because he speaks like he writes, in wholly formed thoughts, laid out beautifully each time with carefully-selected words that have an unimaginable amount of thought behind each one. When he does write something, the idea of revision is scandalous to him. The revision has already been done, he just didn't need to show his work, so to speak. But he is an intellectual savant, his brain an extremely efficient idea machine. If we were both successful mathematicians, he'd be the one who never needed to show his work, with nary a thought about the problem before the correct solution presented itself to his mind. I, however, need to do the long division.
It is not that I'm less capable of understanding these thoughts and ideas, simply that it takes more work for me to get to them. And for me, it's work I don't mind doing, even enjoy. I take satisfaction not simply from knowing the solution to the puzzle, but from the process of solving the puzzle. He cannot even begin to tackle a thousand-piece jigsaw puzzle, whereas I become completely absorbed in the process. I feel comfortable selling off finished crafts, because it is the crafting process I crave, not the finished product itself. I am a maker, a builder, a doer. A thinker, yes, but for me thinking is impossible with idle hands. My S.O. may devour thoughts whole like a ravenous snake, but I nibble the edges and play with my food.
And writing IS my process. It is the bed for my restless mind, the sedative to my anxiety, the happy pill for my depression. It is my cure, and I need to start taking my medicine.
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