Thoughts about Writing
What is it about writing? Why is there a need to write? What then? I think over and over about writing. When I'm walking. When I'm thinking. All of those thoughts seem to want expanding, but this kind of thinking doesn't seem to warrant expansion. It all goes to the wind. It is unorganized, unedited, and perhaps unproductive. Why is it I feel I need to write these things down, but don't follow through to do it? Is it that these words will probably go unread? Is it that I don't want to spend the time typing in our cluttered office? Is it that a computer screen signals playing games, shopping and Face Book time, rather than text production? Is it because it's hard to start? Is it because it seems there is no easy end to it? What do I think I need to write about? My dogs. People. Those I have lost. Those still in my life. Covid times. Aging. Often aging. Spring. Ideas? Is it about producing SOMETHING in these times of seeming nothingness? Is about using