Nothing Special: A Meditation on Writing

451 words tonight. Not sure if they are good or bad, but they are out there now and the story has a new twist. To write about the mother, I need to write about the father. Both are such vile, loathsome creatures.

Writing is meditation and meditation is writing. Hold the seat with no gaining idea. Let the thoughts arise as they will. Observe them. Notice how the ideas dress themselves in words. Observe the words. Place them on the page. Let the words accumulate. Let them pile up in a gorgeous heap. Let them rise first to the knees, then the shoulder. Let them rise to the ceiling until you are buried in words. Let them rise until you are drowning, and you are unable to breathe. Then, stand back. Shake off the words. Remind yourself, no gaining idea.

Keep doing this. Not because the words are sacred. The words are not sacred. The words are mundane. Nothing special. Do this because words are nothing special. Keep doing this because the words are mundane.

Advertisements

One thought on “Nothing Special: A Meditation on Writing

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s