I was listening yesterday to a lecture on what Nietzsche would say about our love lives. It was both amusing and interesting, but it caused me to think about that with which I have the most rocky love relationship–writing.
Now, it isn’t as though I haven’t seen a great model of what the author/writing relationship should be. My lovely wife Katie has a great relationship with writing. Sure, she goes through difficult times with writing, but the relationship always emerges stronger on the other side. There is patience, dedication, meaningful time spent developing the relationship. Katie understands writing, and, while she may not always say it, there is a deep affection that she carries for writing and together her and the written word have produced many beautiful children together.
I, on the other hand, have a much more rocky relationship. My relationship with writing consists of a few feverish and passionate days out of every month in which I hurriedly scratch out the first thing that comes to my mind. It is love after a sort, but it is hardly a great love affair. Sure there is time spent, but not enough time to ensure anything lasting. There is work put in, but it is work for my own gain. I approach writing for what I can get out of it–the release of all the pent-up thoughts in my head. This explains, of course, why my writing always turns out more like the illegitimate child of a busy man and his blog.