Pouring out your brains and heart, your thoughts and feelings onto a white sheet of paper. Baring your soul. It’s like creating a piece of art. It has to be a great work of art and then putting a price on it. Presumably so you can eat. It’s not cathartic. It’s painful. Selling your soul to the devil I suppose. Piece by piece. Or is it something else. Sharing your love of the word? Sharing the ‘obvious’. Pieces of the obvious. Is it purging of your soul and is that not a good thing? Is not writing a great work like having a tremendous orgasm and feeling incredibly content and satisfied afterwards.
Picking what to write about is not at all unlike deciding what to paint or what to sculpt. You need it to pique your interest. To capture your soul. Fascinate to the point of wanting to expound your particular wisdom about it. Like impressionist painting. Your particular slant on a scene.
My problem seems to be attention span. I find that a story line doesn’t seem to capture my ‘fascination’ for all that long so it falls by the way side. So maybe short stories are the way to go. Or just blogs or just articles.