Objectively speaking, writing is easy. Push down one letter key after another. Make a word. Form a sentence.
That’s really all there is to it.
But it’s not really all there is to it.
Because some words aren’t friends, and if they end up next to each other the sentence would make no sense at all. Then there’s these finicky things called grammar and punctuation, which in the English language are sinister and slippery sorts of beasts. And even after you string words together that can sit next to each other in peace and in a proper line, and you throw in some commas and periods and perhaps an exclamation point, you have to try to make them really say something–turn them into something more than just squiggles on a screen.
It is messy work.
And sometimes I don’t want to do it, yet I sit down anyway and that cursor blinks back at me and it is all I can do to put anything on the page, a “the” or “and” or “to.”
And I hear the siren call of Facebook and Pinterest and BuzzFeed and they are tapping me on the shoulder with their hilarity and inspiration and lovely photos.
And there are millions of words that have already been written, strung together so beautifully and I could spend days, months, years simply reading them.
But there are words somewhere inside of me that must eventually get out, and so I sit, enter the fray however inadequately, and write. Because that’s what writers do, and I suppose that’s what I am.
Til next time…
p.s. What’s the hardest part of writing for you?