I do often wonder what this string of writings looks and feels like to you. If we can be said to write for just one reader, as it were, you are that reader. I write here for you. I wonder what this string of writings looks like to you.
I say this because I read it back, and back, and I try to think outside myself. Perhaps a writer does this, because only then can writing happen. I don’t know. It’s the curiosity of thinking about you, here and now, which takes me. How you see is my concern. I don’t write that with any trepidation: I write it with deliberate wonder.
When you wonder here, what do you wonder about how this stack of writings all connects? I mean, do you think — like I sometimes do when I read through the offerings of others’ work — what threads through this all? On the face of it, outside myself, I might write some unfathomable things. Sure I might. I write some experiences of the writerly life; I write some travels, some formed thoughts and some, frankly, thoughts in progress. I wonder if a drift is being caught and flowed along with.
Do you come here because you’re attracted to the title, the tag, the first line or the paragraph? Do you come because you’ve found me by chance arrangement of search engine offerings: flotsam or jetsam washed your way? Are you looking for something specific?
I write these things because, though I write to you, for you, I write for me too. Of course, this whole stream, this body of work, this collection of whatever transpires in the fullness of time, this is what I’m engineering as a window on this writer. My curiosity prods at my ribs: is it deep enough, strong enough, clear enough?; is it focused, de-focused, imprecise? Any or all or more of these?
I’m blog writing, here, about blog writing, which in turn is about writing.
I’ll work backwards because there’s some semblance of shape in doing so: I’m writing here to lay down, to engineer, to find out things that may be of writing worth. I’m writing to form a body of work, a collection, a mass, a form of words. There will be layers, and there will be contradictions: of this I can be fairly confident. I can revisit these and find out more in the process.
I’m writing here to see what’s deep enough, strong enough, clear enough, focused, de-focused, imprecise, and other things, vague as they may be. If I write to you, there’s a chance you may find my message in a bottle washed up your way. There are many ‘you’s I write to, so many bottles. Some will be loved and some will be discarded. The more I write, the more I’ll find out. This ‘you’ may agree with some things I suggest.
I’m curious about you because I’ve written you into this piece. You’re a character here. You tell me some things: you whisper them quietly. You tell me them because I’ve formed you here on the screen. You can’t help but tell me things. A writer needs to step out of himself though. How else can he find out more? So I’m curious about you: I wonder what you read here, how you read here, how you see it all. I step out of me to see you.
There I see how I write some unfathomable things, and some experiences of the writerly life; I write some travels, some formed thoughts and some thoughts in progress. I write some other things.
It’s all a wondering of what this string of writings looks like to you.