Husband: I need to send you to patience school with our daughter.
Wife: I need to send you to how not to be a dick school.
Husband: I wouldn't be such a dick if you weren't so impatient.
Wife: I wouldn't be so impatient if you weren't such a dick.
Oh the joys of marriage.
The discussion about my writing revolved around this need for external recognition I seem to have. I rarely write for myself. It lacks satisfaction for me. When we explored it further, I realized it wasn't so much personal recognition. I would love to write a popular novel or play or movie (or blog!) under a pseudonym. I wouldn't need the fame. My ideas seem to need the fame though. The unanswered question at the end of our discussion was, "why?"
It's obviously not personal fame. And it's not an unrealistic belief that my ideas can change the world. I think that it's a couple things. First, it is solidarity. If you're reading my writing, we are sharing an experience. I am not alone (and neither are you). It's also a solidarity in thought. If you're reading this or my book or play or whatever, I presume you share the same idea (I don't mean agree with the idea, I simply mean that the idea means something to you whether negatively or positively).
Secondly, it's an exploration. My ideas are extremely important to me. The reality of it is, however, these ideas are not clear to me. I don't really know what I'm talking about until I'm halfway done writing it. Even then it is very much in the abstract until someone else interprets it. In essence, I understand my ideas and thus my mind through external interpretation.
I share this world with you, both in body and mind. The body part is easy to understand, the mind not so much. Writing helps me understand this.
If a tree falls in the woods and no one is there to hear it, does it make a sound? If I write a blog and no one is there to read it, do I make sense?
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