Need

I need to write.

This is not saying, I should write. It’s not about giving myself a guilt trip for not writing.

It’s about this actual thing called need.

I used to have an existential dilemma around being an artist. I felt that it was a pointless activity that didn’t bring any good into the world. That it didn’t really contribute anything useful, that I was basically selfish. I thought I had no real excuse, and what did it mean anyway? What was the point?

But I’ve discovered a few things lately since writing regularly and working regularly on a story.

Writing relaxes me. When I’m relaxed, I’m happy. When I’m happy, life’s good. When life’s good, I want to give to others, to share the bounty of love and happiness in my heart. The well feels endless, spring-fed.

When I don’t write, I get crabby.

I lose energy; I become sluggish, tired, moody, frustrated, constipated sometimes, I lose my appetite for healthy food and I don’t feel sexy at all. It takes a lot of energy to not write, and no one gets any benefit from it. I’m not as nice as I can be. I become judgemental, sometimes even paranoid, definitely morbid.

When I don’t write, I stress out, and sometimes, I forget to poo, or rather, my body does. Sometimes the only cure for not going to the loo, is to sit down for a good space of time (letters are good because the flow is good), and write. At some point along the way, miraculously, I have a sudden urge to go to the toilet.

Ok, so that’s not a very palatable thing to talk about but it’s the truth, and it points to the hold that writing has upon me. If I don’t do it, it interrupts my homeostatic balance. When I do do it, wonderful things happen in the other direction.

For instance, my libido suddenly lights up, and it’s happy heaven around here. Definitely my marriage takes on a special sparkle. When I’m writing, I’m sexy. Writing is sexy.

Another wonderful side effect is energy. I get bounce; I wake up happy, I surge through the day, get lots of other things I like done, like gardening and making awesome food. I get creative in other spheres of my life, and I often spontaneously dance around the house, up the stairs, up the ladder, down again, over the couch, out the door and right back round again…

It’s actually good for me to write, in the same way that breathing or yoga or water or fresh vegetables are good for me. That is, it’s vital to me; it is a part of my life force, I need it to be happy and healthy.

And a happy, healthy human is a very good contribution to make to the world. We need more happy, healthy, sharing, loving humans.

Therefore, I need to write.

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About talesbytink

I've lived various lives in various places but have been a writer at heart the whole time. The experiences of being other things in other lands and times can only make my writing richer. I have no regrets about the road travelled. There are no shortcuts to any place worth going.
This entry was posted in ramblings on writing, the hard yards and tagged , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to Need

  1. Thank you. I needed this reminder.

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