Writing Woes

Writing is painful. Everyone asks, but why? Writing leaves me sore and bruised from exhaustion. They say, but you effortlessly scribble so much.

Thus, began my story to explore why writing is so painful to me. I exercise writing like physiotherapy to fix a taut muscle. I write painfully to make it feel less painful. Back in the early days of my career, I would avoid sending emails and sit by a veteran junkie who loves sending emails. Occasionally, I would finagle an email to be sent on my behalf. There are usually two types of email junkies. I would watch how he types with a blazing ferocity that never requires the backspace. They type away with impeccable format, punctuation and diction that almost reduces the backspace button to a redundant worker. Then, I would watch how another pecker on a separate occasion starts typing and retraces and then starts typing and halts ...he halts ...as if he is divining for a word to make its appearance in a meditative trance. Slowly, he would move the sluggish finger and type something only to murderously bang on the backspace before you could even read it. They strive for harmonic wording. They write, then delete, then two writes, then two deletes and so forth until the deletes subside and the writes surmount and the revisions nicely fold up the bedevilled email.

However, that is not where my story unravels though it has such insightful beginnings. For me, writing is painful. The folds and ridges of my brain are so twisted and tonked that to find order in such melee is like blowing a whistle in a rugby stampede. One would expect words to be ordered and sorted nicely in the brain.



When you invoke a feeling or muster an emotion, you expect the word to self-identify and walk towards you like a lucky candidate called forth in a game show. My brain is rough-and-tumble. There are no order or rules that on invocation the words erupt in a scuffle. I am confused which ruffian to adopt in that scuffle.



Next, with great pains and deliberation even if I were to finalize from the eager candidates, I am stumped when I try to control them. One also expects the brain to instruct and discipline these rogues to settle down in harmony.




They don't! They take positions that escape all structure and sense.





Last night I typed a sentence -- "this was transgressed here and there by me".

Later, I was struck by the monstrosity in that sentence. "was", "transgressed", "by" , me"! What mangled form have I summoned! They are prodigal verbs and shy nouns. I was puzzled if the active muscle encroached on the passive tendon or they both just smashed up into a mutant disfigurement. Is that even grammar?

Therefore, writing is painful. The words have no priority and the attendance is a jumble. I have always been curious to feel for a day what it is to be a pounder who strikes an email in one fell swoop or to be a pecker who falters at each unseemly expression. I, on the other hand, have to battle the chaos, the scramble, the gush and the assemblage of such unruly mob into a fluent choir. One day I might conquer my impediment. I might be that someone whom a rookie would approach to proxy an email. I might pound or peck having neutralized my scramble and gush. But for now, I have to love what I have in me that took to compose this text streaming the clutter into a filament from verbal haemorrhage. Hey, you there, who called you?

 

I shall consider that as two distinct members to falsify my reader count.

You are blessed to be able to write with joy. I write only informal chatter with such joy. When it comes to dry and official writing, I wince.

As such my brain is chaotic and on top of that if I were to choose words from dictionary, the border skirmish would be a fatal sight. I rarely pull up dictionary when I write. Such overhead is best to be avoided for my petty musing.

The 'very thought' is vital. They talk of stuff that dreams are made of .... such stuff though invisible is substantial to keep us going. Writing for self-satisfaction is the best form of creative writing. That smile matters, rather the only thing that matters.

 

Last night I typed interactive responses to your funny comments here and at QPQ. Wait, I should sketch an accompanying picture. I deferred to today. What difference today or tomorrow, only 12 hours. We spoke of a friend of mine from college days in QPQ. I spent a lot of time with him. A lot of my crazy and quacky behaviour is imported from him. I asked him once when he was going through pain in life, how should I treat you? I am confused. He responded, treat me like you have always treated me. No different. I would catch up with you soon, very soon. I have acquired that outlook from him in life. When people ask me, how would you want to be treated. I say the same, like you have always treated me. No different. I see a lot of him in you. I see that same spirit and wit and courage and non-sensical senseful bearing in you. I know that you would prefer if I posted the original comment as it is with no contrived alterations though I dropped the picture.

You see, there, there, Michelangelo never wanted to paint the Sistine Chapel. He thought of himself as a sculptor and then a painter. But Pope Julius was a clever man! He bribed Miky into painting the fresco by sopping him with the commission of his tomb. Dude, you paint the Sistine Chapel and I shall grant you forty marbles to sculpt my tomb. Similarly, my formal writing is a diplomatic bargain to my cheerful and nonsensical and informal writing. Any time I painfully compose a serious mail, I will unleash ten silly mails subsequently.

This is the wittiest of your innocent wit. You should see some of my early writing from pre-college. I would write like a Mesopotamian scribe recording the civic transactions of the sheep sold and the grain bought. There won't be one useful outcome of my writing. It would be dry and devoid of all spirit. College changed me, then the foodie gang changed me. Now you cannot find one meaningful outcome of my writing.

But your ''With reference to the above, see my below" is classic! If we both were working in the same bank, this is how our correspondence would have looked.

Sri: With reference to the above, see my below
Ira: Please find in between answers to your questions.
Sri: That is inline, not in between. I have upped a file in support of down text .
Ira: I downed the up file. Here is the after invoice for the before email.
Sri: Ok, I am closing the opening deal.
Ira: Thanks for the transaction and regards for the translation.

Our correspondence would never have been recorded for training purposes.

Hope to catch you soon. Hugs to you.