THE WEIGHT OF WORDS

Lately, writing has seemed a burden. It’s as if words have somehow gained weight, become heavier in my mind.

I am writing a lot. I spend four or five hours a day editing a novel, which I began years ago—so long ago, in fact, that I can’t accurately recall the number of years. It is tedious work, this editing. I work on a laser-printed copy, editing by hand, and then after five or ten or twenty pages are scratched up, return to the computer to input the changes. Sitting at the computer, I make further changes. There are two different mindsets at work—one when I’m reading what’s been written (some of it years ago) and the other, when I’m re-reading the changes I’ve input. Often the two minds do not agree, so I edit the edits. Sometimes even, I disregard the edits entirely and stick with the original.

But this is work seems more like polishing a car—waxing—rather than building a car, or driving, or even washing. Editing is the kind of work most writers don’t relish—I know that I don’t.

And in addition to working on the book, I write for the local newspaper, and in addition to that, I try to keep up with this blog. So, there are a lot of words passing through this brain. At times it seems like there are too many—and then the words seem heavier, maybe because they clump up and become bunches that are too heavy to lift.

All this seems like complaining—and it is. It comes from the thoughts I’ve been thinking lately of just stopping. No more words, which, to be honest, seems impossible. Something keeps me going. An obsession to tell my story, to try to explain this life of mine, if only to myself. But, all that need to explain makes me want to seek out an easier, simpler way. I know that way might be just to meditate and have the thoughts come in as they do but rather than write them down just to let them go.