I try to write what's on my mind, although my mind is a constant jumble of unending motion I can only reach into and pull out a few memories, or thoughts.
Still, I'm compelled to write. The thoughts arrive, I try to take the best for presentation and reveal these moments with the limited method we call "writing".
My effort can seem incomplete, worthless and leave the feeling it's a thankless endeavor to make the effort. It's like throwing rocks into the darkness and hoping for a sound, when they strike.
For those that don't write, and probably should, there are few things that reveal who your are you are, or leaves a legacy. So much of life is lost forever and - other than photographs or recollections - your entire existence can be only a short memory on a Saturday afternoon.
Writing is never a thankless endeavor, even though most of the time I think I am writing only for my own enjoyment. Then out of the blue someone will comment on a post of mine and I am encouraged to continue. Many times when I read the words of others, those words will trigger a memory of my own. I am grateful for that.
ReplyDeleteYou're right. No matter what I write, I get some enjoyment from the effort.
DeleteThe frustration is a different thing. That I don't enjoy and avoid writing when the frustration is heavy.