April 18, 2010

• eighteen – Solitude and Writing

  This entry is pretty much just filler.  It’s late and I am tired. There are many things I want to write, many entries half formed in my mind but if I were to write them now I couldn’t do them justice. They’d be poor approximations of what they could have been.  But I have to write now so this is what I will write. Just filler.

  This is a general problem I keep running into. When I have time to write is always when I am least inspired to write. When my mind is running rapidly and ideas are flourishing within that’s when I’m usually late for work or rushing to do something or in the middle of some interaction I can’t get out of.  So for example this weekend I spent much of it with friends and though I had access to a laptop and could have been writing I couldn’t focus on the writing and so I couldn’t find any inspiration. And now that it’s late I’m too tired to really focus. Tomorrow morning I’ll probably get some inspiration but I’ll have to go to work and I’ll have to work and won’t be able to write until that evening when the inspiration has long ago left me.

  As a result when I’m writing I’m usually writing not from inspiration but from memory. And I’ve learned my memory is a piss poor substitute for the power of inspiration. When I write from memory the emotions end up all removed from the piece and what I write ends up sounding wooden, overly technical, and shallow.

  Obviously you can’t just wait for those moments of inspiration to write or you’ll never write enough to achieve anything (or even to prevent myself from going insane). If one wants to make writing an important part of their life or wants to write works of great significance, there has to be a deliberate writing endeavor as well. You sit down and focus on writing and just MAKE yourself write.

  I am able to do that sometimes and still write decently. But it requires great concentration. I have to sit down and detach myself from everything and focus all of my energy on remembering not just the ideas, the details and the words that came to mind when I was first inspired to write on a topic but also the feelings and sensations that overwhelmed my mind and made the thing that I wanted to write seem important to me. Only when I succeed in that can I write it and feel like I’ve written something worth while. 

  It doesn’t always work. Sometimes I’ll spend hours sort of meditating on something I’ve wanted to write for weeks only to be unable to recapture those old feelings. It’s like I missed the opportunity because I’m no longer in that stage of my life and I didn’t write it when I had the chance. I can still remember some of the details of what I was going to say, but that’s a small consolation. I can write it, but if I do it feels like I’m only doing it just so I don’t forget. That’s fine but it doesn’t feel like writing to me. It’s more like stenography.

  Sometimes when I meditate though on one topic something even better than recalling the initial emotions happens. I can bring forth a new inspiration! When that happens I am overjoyed because I am perfectly positioned to be able to write it and my mind  goes straight to paper or digital pixels as the case may be unblemished by overmuch time spent over-analyzing and re-examining it.  That first draft will inevitably be, shall we say, really really bad of course. It’s often barely intelligible. But something in the words themselves conveys to my consciousness the feeling that I got when I was inspired. And then I can, over time, revise it to make it more coherent while keeping its essence still intact.

  Because of the value I find in this sort of meditative writing process, I often feel like solitude is the one thing I’m always seeking out most.  Honestly at times I don’t think there’s anyone else in the world who enjoys being completely and utterly by himself as much as I do. When I’m alone is the only time when I feel I can really focus. And it’s the only time when I feel my real thoughts can come through. It’s the only time when I feel like me.

  People around me feel noisy. Even when they aren’t making any noise and are leaving me alone. Even when they’re in the other room or several rooms removed. If they are aware of my presence then their presence will at least a tiny bit dig into my sense of peace. I think it has to do with the sense that people are aware of me, are thinking about me, are judging me or watching me or perceiving me. It’s like the knowledge that they know of my existence is itself a sort of crutch because it makes me feel as if I have to react to them in some way, moderate my behaviors or my thoughts to accommodate their existence.

  Of course a lot of this is just my crazy paranoia that I’ve never been able to completely shake. But I’ve written plenty about that in the past so no need to rehash it all.

  My love of solitude can create a number of awkward situations because I’ve met a lot of people who are in a lot of ways the exact opposite. They both need and strive on companionship.  They get bored when they are alone and would rather be around someone even if the person they are around and they are barely interacting.  Presence matters to them.  And of course a lot of people like this are my friends.  So we have to find some kind of reasonable balance which can be difficult.

  Of course none of this is absolute. Undoubtedly if you forced me to be alone for weeks on end it would drive me just as insane as it would anyone else. And likewise if my friends who want to be around people were forced to be surrounded by the same group of people 24 hours a day 7 days a week it would eventually start to grate on their nerves no matter how interesting or fun the group happened to be.

  But there definitely seems to be a kind of orientation difference between people some of whom thrive on solitude and others on companionship.  Some people feel as if there’s a loneliness hole in them that they need to fill and that being around other people can sometimes partially plug it or at least help them to forget it’s there. Me I feel as if there’s a great weight on me at all times due to the pressures of others regard and it’s only when I’m by myself that I can feel partial relief from the strain of holding it all up.

  Of course people constantly misunderstand these different orientations. And so often someone who needs companionship will think someone like me must be miserable and lonely whenever I spend time by myself. But that’s just wrong. While I do get depressed, often the depression arises much more from me being AROUND people too much and too often and for too long. I’m not “lonely” at least in the normal sense of the word. I’m almost anti-lonely.

  I’m not sure if it’s really related to my writing at all. It might just be that I was born this way. But definitely one of the things that I greatly enjoy about being this way is that when I’m alone I am better able to write and the longer that I am alone the better. Eventually I have to go out though and gather more experiences upon which to base my writing of course. But it’s definitely nice to take the time out to be alone and focus all my energies toward bringing something forth out of my chaotic mind that might actually matter.

  All that is to say if I were ever a writer, I’d definitely be more of the lock myself away and ignore the world writer than the more socialite type writers who thrive on hanging out with a close knit group of like minded friends and who love getting interviews and recognition.  I guess I’d be more Salinger than Twain.

  • 11:38 pm
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