Do you write to release thoughts?

[Midnight Palace]

I've been doing it for awhile. Here's one of my many pieces....

In the Light....

I won't pretend to understand your misunderstandings. The last time you misunderstood, it was directed towards me, and what I understand, but I can't understand how you misunderstood. So, in effect, we've canceled out each other and created the light...of just being right here.

There are times you never knew me, and I knew that, but still lived with dreams of knowing you. What made you so mysterious to me? What of you is stealing my nightmares and holding them in the protective arms of reassurance....thereby making them nothing more than memories of looking ahead to a time when everything is perfect. Suppose that is you and me...in the light...of just being right here.

I've sketched hope with a dull pencil...much more reliable than the sharpest point which remains unused. I've never traced around the lines of someone else....their curves are too loyal to borrow from. So rather, I play the melody embedded in me...if only to acknowledge its strength for remaining on the front lines of my character. When I'm eye-level with the world in a battle of opinion...I'm never in a time of regret, but rather in the light...of just being right here.

Allow me to invite you along, but remember that my concrete appears where I imagine it to be. It may end, but I find too much of a natural fulfillment in letting it stretch into the blackness. I know it sounds like imminent danger, but rest assured that the blackness is nothing more than an area defined by me....simply because it has been disregarded by them. You don't have to resist, because I know where this leads....and where you misunderstand, I understand.....remember? You are with me because we interlock like puzzles of soul & spirit....in the light...of just being right here.

- The conversation between my consciousness and imagination


Anyone else have any?

 

[CharlieH.]

And now, I present a rare glimpse into the innermost and psychologically complex thoughts that plague my mind throughout the day:



....



WHY ME????




....

Thus concludes my intellectual interlude.

 

[Diamondback]

I've been known to unload thoughts into a Word document just to get 'em out of the way, then a few days later twist them into semi-readable essays.

Edited to add: When you see me using green text and starting each line with a carat ( > ), I'm actually trying to let you folks see the "command lines" of my thought processes either at that moment (or at the time of the situation, when in a past-tense context).

....
WHY ME????
....

[voice=booming Godlike James Earl Jones [i]basso profundo[/i]]"Because you tick me off, my son..."[/voice]

lol

 

[Joie DeVive]

Sometimes.

I've journaled and written poetry.
I have also been known to draw and paint.

Will have to dig around for a decent poem...

 

[Elaina]

No. Writing to me is a craft I'm good at. It's nothing subonscious, I'm in it for the fame and glory (and that's scarcasm, my dear friends.) I'm crazy and I write so I don't go postal on everyone else. The fact of it is, it's an obsessive compulsion with me. I feel that I have to write, and therefore I do, but deep thoughts andI part ways about page 2, which got scrapped about page 6.

No one "gets" it, but that's another topic. And no, I have no idea why an editor took my mutated frog seriously. It was my humor, plain and simple (okay, it was a New York Italian frog named Al Ribioni on a crutch. Waving it around and yelling. I mean come ON. ) And it came from the depressing conversation I had been having with a farmer, for a serious story (not the frog one, however) and I saw this little froggie limping around because of the chemicals...and Al was born. (And for the record, I kept that stupid frog for about 2 years, laughing the entire time I saw him...and I named him Al.)

I'd like to tell you I write because I have all these great and wonderful ideas to share, and that I'm so deep I can write the NEXT GREAT AMERICAN NOVEL...but it's not the truth. I write because I have to, and I happen to be good at it. If I entertain myself along the way, only a select few will ever know.

 

[MrNewportCustom]

I sometimes write poetry as a release. I say "sometimes," because a lot of my work is about how guys react to women's charms, rather than experience emotions about them. I also enjoy writing in a style very similar to Ogden Nash.

When I write prose, it's usually humor, sci-fi (or humorous sci-fi) or hard case crime (or humorous not-so-hard case crime.) Sometimes, it's just something off the top of my head.

But, mostly, I like to write humor


Lee

 

[LizzieMaine]

Writing's a terribly prosaic thing for me -- for twenty-five years, it was what I did to earn a living, nothing more. I had to write the way the client wanted, or the way the news format wanted, or the way the style guide wanted, not the way I wanted -- and by the time I finished the day's work, I couldn't stand the sight of a typewriter or a keyboard or a tablet. So I let my deep thoughts, such as they were, out by taking long walks or bike rides or drives and talking to myself.

I've journaled from time to time -- usually when in the grips of some personal crisis -- but I find it very difficult, and sometimes even embarassing, to go back and read what I wrote. The same thoughts that made perfect sense when mumbled under the breath too often look silly or self-indulgent to me when expressed on the page.

 

[Rooster]

I'm a guy, I don't have thoughts.....[huh]

 

[Twitch]

As a published writer I agree that I have crafted articles from a burning desire to get thoughts out there in coherent form. If I am stimulated by a subject it is easy to put toghther 2,000 words in 3-4 hours.

 

[The Lonely Navigator]

No, I don't and the only time I ever really write anything is either: a report back as to if I tried a sample of something (how well it worked) - for example: I had bought lemon eucalyptus essential oil to help keep the bugs away, and mixed it in with my pomade and the result was a pomade that not only smells good, but now keeps the bugs away from my face. I told the company about it.

Or when I have to place a custom order for something. Another example would be a letter I enclosed w/ a book to a friend about my list of recommended books on the Battle of the Atlantic (and those I don't recommend).

I'm just not a philosophical type...it doesn't mean that I'm not 'open minded', it's just that I don't 'ponder the meaning of life' or my place/role in the 'bigger plan'.



Prien

 

[rockyj]

Whenever I think of writting I remember my favorite poem

The Moving Finger Writes; and having writ,
Moves on: nor all thy Piety nor Wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,
Nor all thy Tears wash out a Word of it.

That usually stops me.

Oh that poem was by Omar khayyam

 

[Harp]

I'm a guy, I don't have thoughts.....[huh]

...I'm a guy, I do have impure thoughts.....

 

[ferryengr]

I'm a guy, I don't have thoughts.....[huh]

Hear ! Hear!

(Or is it Here! Here!?)

 

[Scuffy]

I write quite a bit. And yes when I say "write" I actually mean "to lay out my thoughts across a piece of paper with an instrument such as a pen". I've kept a journal for the past 6 years or so. It started out as a photography log, pretty much keeping to locations, settings and general descriptions to be used as reference points later on. Then it progressed to the point it included my thoughts on the subjects and what I felt- and finally ending up a full blown journal full of whatever strikes me at the time. I've got poetry, most of which I wrote in high school that now seems quite simple while at the time it sounded and felt so... I guess mature would fit the bill. Reading back on it I have to laugh though. I keep it because it is a reminder of how I felt at the time.

Aside from that I've had a few things published, articles, essays and the like in regional publications. Currently I'm working on a book for the Images of America series about the covered bridges in the county.

I do all kinds of writing! Is it worthy of showing... that's a different story. Definitely therapeutic though!

Scuffy

 

[Steve]

I've done that quite a bit. Though I wouldn't ever go so far as to call any of it good prose, it has always been a good release, both creatively and emotionally.

This is one that I wrote after my last trip through my late grandmother's old home:

Ghosts of the Past

I entered the house I knew so well. It seemed foreign. Walking the stairs, it was all surreal. This wasn't the place it once was.

Memories, already growing blurry in my mind, flitted in and out of view like specters of another world. I could still see her in the bed, smiling peacefully as slowly she slipped from this pitiful mortality into everlasting bliss.

Descending the stairs, my mind drifted back to simpler times; when the living room was filled with light and laughter. Now it was barren of furniture, lit only by the waning light of the dusky sky.

Outside the windows, the water's incessant lapping kept up just as it always had. I breathed deeply, looking at the dim sky and smelling the faint whiff of salt air. Had it only been two years since she moved here? Had it really only been three months since she was holding joyous gatherings here?

Is this world I dwell in even real? Will this fragile creation dissipate and regenerate into something more when I next open my eyes? I can only wish that it would be so.

 

[Clarke]

If you asked me five years ago if I liked to write, I'd say no. Writing was considered a school thing and not a pastime. Three years ago I decided to write a book called "An American Original" which is about the triumphs and shortcomings of a family in six generations. Keeping a journal is helpful when I'm in need of recording on-going information, such as a fitness record for eagle scout.

 

[bupton]

Family History

I am a descendant of John Upton of North Reading, MA, and it sounds as though you are also. Ida Upton was a first cousin of my great grandfather, Jesse Franklin Upton, and I own several of her handpainted Salem Witch porcelain pieces. I would be very interested in talking history with you, and seeing the photos of Ida and your other ancesters that were posted on the site. Please respond when you can. Bob

 

[AmateisGal]

I journal when the mood strikes me, but the bulk of my writing I reserve for my fiction. I'm working on my third novel right now. I also do a fair amount of freelance work for a book publishing company.

Sometimes, I have to write to make me feel better - the need to spill those words onto the page releases me from their grip. I've written letters to my husband when we've had arguments because I explain things so much better when I write it instead of when we're talking.

Writing is therapeutic for me, but it's also what I do. The key for me is that when I write as a way to release emotions, I don't worry about grammar, spelling (well, ok, I do worry about spelling because I can't stand misspelled words, which is why I work as a copyeditor and proofreader!), and how it reads. It's an outlet and that's all it's intended to be for me.

 

[Jonny's Angel]

I'm in the middle of CBT at the moment and my therapist recommended writing as a release. To be honest though, I only tend to do it when in a bad mood, when I'm happy I'm too busy doing stuff

 

[sweetfrancaise]

I write...fiction, poetry, more recently a screenplay. And my problems, irritations and daydreams always weave themselves into my pieces, whether I'm aware of them or not. It's easier for me to work these things out on paper than to talk about them (I'm intensely private, for the most part--there are only one person I trust enough to tell them everything, or almost), and most of the time I don't realize where a plot came from until my real-life problem resolved itself. [huh] So, anyway, here's a poem I wrote a couple of years ago, regarding one of my very aggravating, very intelligent, best friends:

Shine on, you stuttering genius,

(panhandler). I see you gather ideas,
belongings; stop as soon as you believe
you’re out of shelves. Watching your,
hands, eyes, I place them
elsewhere:

on your chest, legs, toes.
Maybe if you misplaced, replaced
your self away from comfortable laps
I’d find you realized. Potential
lies

within those fingers I watch playing
among poker chips. I should scream
until your eardrums explode; the predict-
able result will assure me you
still

ache higher than the rest. I stop myself
remembering my actions won’t help me,
either. Selfishness must arrest; your
nature tending to overcome such
impatience.