Every little thought. Every little detail.
Every. Single. Word.
Does it matter, really? What we say and why we say it? What we write and our motivations for doing so? Who’s reading?
Who’s not reading?
Why do we think that each statement or question we put to ourselves is of interest to anyone else? Why do we feel compelled to capture it all – taking thousands of photographs and crafting countless messages?
Have we become so uncomfortable with silence that we must fill the void with chatter?
Seeing and Doing
My son picks up a pen and draws, and then a pencil, and then a brush to paint and none of it from a conscious need for attention and certainly not an interest in legacy; he is five and he experiences; this is his natural world and he does what comes naturally. It is a simple thing.
I pick up a pencil of my own and work it, then taking to typing on a blue Smith Corona and eventually a brown IBM Selectric which years later gives way to keyboard after keyboard. This is my world and it is a simple thing, until adulthood instructs me in complications.
Painterly, Writerly
The painters I know absorb the colorful, the monotone, the textural, the satiny, the jagged, the curvaceous, the presence, the absence; this is the whorl of visual and tactile stimulation that leads them to form and imagery.
The writers I know collect the sensory and the psychological: the irresistible dialog, the notable gesture, the ragged tone or jubilant declaration, the revealing behavior that unlocks an intriguing door; this is the plumbing of pleasure or pain, allowing others subsequent entry.
We are gluttonous gatherers, ready to regurgitate and eager to embellish. We stockpile an experiential inventory for the never-say-never stark seasons: the white canvas, the wordless winter.
Narcissism, Exploration, Reassurance
But what about the need to speak?
Is it narcissism that encourages us to share our every thought on Twitter? To update our doings eight times daily on Facebook? Is it self-indulgence to blog or comment in public, or is this an exploration in search of insight, a desire to connect, a means to face down loneliness and cloak ourselves in moments of reassurance?
Do we fear forgetting, or being forgotten?
Isn’t there eloquence in the blurring of detail and glossing over, in our righteous recreation of self-image which is inevitable anyway, and at times advisable?
Reflections in Murky Waters
Perhaps we are recording our histories as they unfold, on the walls of our millennial caves in our own webs of temporal, intemperate, semi-permanent hyperbole, in a murky madness that incites us to generate facts and fictions in order to survive and even, to thrive. This is our private-public storytelling, and yes, our narcissism, but equally, our collective consciousness.
Self-indulgent?
No doubt.
Valuable?
Possibly.
Reading this?
Maybe it doesn’t matter a damn, and maybe that doesn’t matter because the need to whisper, to shout, to sing, to scream and ultimately to sit in silence will certainly “out.”
And so we tap and type when we are afraid; we write to reach out, we write to document that we are here, we write to feel less desperate in the darkness. And don’t we read for the very same reasons?
Yes! we write and read to know that we are not alone. Alone in our life trials, alone in our life joys… We are a social world.
Lovely. Philosophical.
I often think of Shakespeare’s sonnets (and the sonnets of his contemporaries…and even later, into the Romantic era) where the speakers used their words to immortalize their words (usually their love).
I think it’s both our way of reaching out and our way of saying who we are and that our breaths matter.
Okay. Massive metaphor fail here. So I’ll stop!
I wonder how Shakespeare would do with 140 character limit… Hmmm.
That said Leanne, I am a sonnet fan. Italian sonnets. Garlic sonnets. Shakespearean breakfast sonnets… https://dailyplateofcrazy.com/2010/04/03/breakfast-foods-departing-broods/
Why would I read what a perfect stranger writes? When it would move, thrill, disturb, stun, inspire, satisfy, inform, challenge, charm, delight, excite, feed, entertain, instruct, enlighten, calm, or restore me. How do I get to such writing? Through a lot of boring stuff.
It’s the imperfect strangers I find intriguing… 😉
I read and write because it changes my direction. Sometimes I’m forced to proceed in directions I’d never thought of….but, for the most part, the changes are ones I needed.
Yes, “we write to feel less desperate in the darkness.” God we are on the same line of thought these days.
I think, after many months, that I’ve come to the point of writing (slowly) in my blog space to hold myself accountable. Because it is public, because there is the potential that someone else will read, I am more responsible with my reflections there. One can rant in a journal (which can also be an excellent use of words), but for me — and I know this isn’t the same for everyone — writing in a publicly accessible space forces me to grow. I have to weigh what I say but remain true to what I feel (the latter is something I have a hard time with). The balance that blog-writing forces for me works, for now.
Very interesting question. I’ve often asked myself the same thing. Why do I read? Why do I write? Why do I care? And will anybody else care? Does it matter if they care or not? As someone who grew up writing, it was, for me, initially an escape. I could create any scenario I wanted to, on paper. My dad could be alive, my mom could be happy and proud of me, and characters in my stories could be anyone I wanted them to be, and could do things and experience things I could only dream of experiencing. After signing up for the high school newspaper staff and becoming editor of the school newspaper, I decided I’d found my calling, to entertain and inform others through writing. My mom had other ideas however, and as she was paying for my college education, I did as I was told and majored in something other than journalism, and was bored to tears throughout college and beyond. Not surprisingly, I floundered for years as I tried to force myself into other careers. It only took about 15 years, but I’m finally getting paid to write, and it feels like home to me. After four years of professional writing for mostly business related topics, I’ve recently started exploring more personal topics and blogging and it’s been a new challenge, which was much needed as my daily subject matter is very dry and “corporate”. I’ve found it very scary to write about personal topics after four years of writing about business and careers and sterile subjects such as those. My newest blog is only a couple months old and after every post, I think “why am I doing this, only 3 people (if that) are reading it and I could be writing a paid freelance article in the time I’m spending on writing about whatever….” then I get an email from someone saying how much my words touched them, or helped them, and I’m motivated again for the next post. So I guess if I touch one person per post, that’s enough for me! At least for now. Hopefully that will grow to 5-10+ per post 🙂 some day… now THAT would be really rewarding! Meanwhile, I am amazed by the sheer volume of quality posts that you consistently produce. I always look forward to my daily plate of crazy! 🙂 I hope one day I can learn to write as eloquently and at such a prolific pace as you are able to write… it’s very inspiring!
I understand what you’re saying, Andrea. More than you know.
I started to write something poetic and the Trickster obliterated it with an “Aw Snap.”
Sounds about right. What if I just say, simply, I appreciate what you have said here?
The reasons why we write and read are as numerous as the number of blogs on the Internet! But, we’re created to be social creatures. And the natural progression of pen on paper to fingers on keys is just another option available to reach out to each other. While many of my posts have been directed to specific readers, lately, I’ve found the thought process going into these writings is helping me cope with these things as well. Narcissistic? Could be an ulterior motive for some. For most of us, I believe it’s an outlet that allows us to connect and support each other…while feeding a deep desire inside us to try and touch the soul of someone else.
I write and read to educate myself and hope to become a better person from what I learn. To me, that is worth it.
I think on any given day the reason I do either is different. But most of all I read and write to be human. Our storytelling, our connecting, it’s vital to our coexistance. For me, that’s enough.