There’s a bunch of writers over at Five Minute Friday who take five minutes to pour out words onto blogs together – bold, unedited, hospitable words. I’m joining them again today, and invite you too. Only one ‘rule’ really… you link up and comment on the post just before yours. That’s what makes it community.
I’m one of those writers who must write, for my own sanity. I know some people who can’t help but talk. They don’t even know what they think or feel about anything until they’ve opened their mouths and made some sounds that somebody else hears. They talk and talk and contradict themselves until somehow what’s coming out of their mouths matches what they think they’re feeling inside. That’s a verbalist.
But I’m not one of them. I feel, deeply, but find the white page is my critical friend, the one who listens as I pour out words and find word-images to paint, until somehow what I see on the page matches what I feel in my heart.
Keeping it in is intolerable. Unlike many people in this community on FMF, I don’t have a family. I don’t have many available friends, and can often find a whole weekend pass without having had a meaningful conversation with anyone. I go to the shop to buy something if it gets really bad. It’s not to say that quiet folks, introverts, or single people don’t want or need someone to talk to. We really do, and find that busy families often don’t or can’t offer the kind of hospitality that would allow for fruitful or comfortable connection. Even just through ‘joining in’ with life as it happens among others. Maybe that’s just the culture round here.
But I digress. What I’m pointing to is the pent up pressing of thoughts that need some outlet for expression. When there isn’t someone in my home, over the breakfast table, on my commute to work, as I walk here or there… when there isn’t someone to listen, I have paper.