Writing, Truth, and Other Important Things

     So my thoughts wander around a lot in this one…I just thought I would warn you…
And also, I wrote this on July 31, but didn't have internet till now, so I wasn't able to post it then.

     Recently I have felt very little need to write, as though I have less to say than I used to.  I still have a great desire to write, but the words simply don’t come.  Perhaps if someone told me something specific to write about, then I would find the words to say and could write again.  But I have not been able to think of anything worth writing about recently.  And yet, I am the same.  And if I am the same, then why do I not feel the same?  Why do I not feel the same need as I used to, and write the same as I used to?  I still feel the same emotions; I feel them just as strongly, and yet the need to describe them is simply not there.

     For a time, I wrote of almost everything – the way I felt, my thoughts; I wrote about people I knew, I wrote about things I did.  I would write about God, I would write stories.  I would write truth and I would write fiction.  And yet, even the fiction was in a way the truth.  For even if the story itself was make-believe, the values behind them, the thoughts and emotions of a character were real to someone – there was someone in the world feeling that way.  Unless something is illogical, it is truth.  Even if it is not completely true, there is truth in it.  That’s the way I see it anyway.  Even if something has been made up, if the values, beliefs and feelings behind it are true, then there is truth contained even in fictitious writing.

     But anyway, back to what I was saying… Although I haven’t felt as though I needed to write much recently, this is something I felt a need to write.  I felt a desire.  And I wrote it.  It’s not the best thing I’ve ever written, certainly not.  But it is writing.  And at this point, I care very little what I write; just that I write at all encourages me.  Though something I do very much wish to write in is my book.  I haven’t written anything probably for a couple weeks.  I’ve done that before, of course, and normally it wouldn’t bother me too much, but I’ve done this so much recently.  I had really wanted to finish it this summer, and I can see now that with only 27 days until school starts, that is not going to happen this summer.

     To be honest, the only reason I write anything like this is to inspire myself to write more.  It used to work, but it has not lately. I enjoy writing it, but I hope as I write that it will give me inspiration to write more, that it will put me in a mood to write more imaginative things…things such as my book.  But lately, it has not worked.  Instead, my mind just wanders from subject to subject and I write it all down and come up with some jumbled mess of words such as what you have just read…