What if your writing were a horse? And what if you didn’t have to chase it down and manhandle it?
Kafka said if you could only be still–”just learn to be quiet, still, and solitary. And the world will freely offer itself to you unmasked. It has no choice; it will roll in ecstasy at your feet.”
Enjoy Koelle Simpson’s TED talk and be kind to your inner horse.
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Text © Gwyn Nichols 2012. All rights reserved. WritersResort.com
Image: YouTube screenshot
So what does 55% mean? I thought addiction was like pregnancy. Can someone be 55% alcoholic? I expected my blogging pathological score to be higher, given this daily practice I’m experimenting with, so I have to consider the source: it was originally sponsored by an online dating service where they probably encourage a high tolerance for online addictions. And the wording, “How Addicted Are You?” assumes a certain degree thereof.
Still, I’ll take it as freedom to encourage you to write daily, whether you blog or not. Come on in, it’s only 55% problematic.
Yes, we writers can get compulsive in the throes of a project–working crazy hours, neglecting health needs, ignoring loved ones. We can also use journaling in a meditative, exploratory way, actually listening for what our bodies and are loved ones are saying.
Addicts escape from painful feelings. Writing can immerse you in your feelings, expanding gratitude, and healing pain.
Addiction breaks every heart within striking distance. Writing can connect you with kindred souls.
Addiction is selfish; publishing, service.
Addiction damages brains, and wires them to require continuance of the self-destructive behavior. Writing fires neural pathways for memory, pattern recognition, critical thinking, problem-solving, and imagination.
Addiction destroys people and projects. Writing creates.
Another View on Blogging Itself:
James Delingpole, “Blogging’s Not a Job, It’s an Expensive Addiction” for Spectator
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Text © Gwyn Nichols 2011. All Rights Reserved.
Image from How Addicted to Blogging Are You?
I’m just home from a university choir concert, aptly named “Waxing Poetic.” Several well-trained choirs from Arizona State University prepared sacred and humorous works, performed in a sacred space, and sent healing sound waves through my soul like a medicinal hot spring. Two of the pieces made me cry:
We’re so spoiled, listening to recordings of music whenever and wherever we want–and naturally, we need those, too–but we can forget how long it’s been since we were nourished by live acoustic music.
If we want to write musically, there better be some music in our souls.
