Writing is a physical thing, for me. The closest thing I get to an aerobic workout.
I spend a lot of time flailing, when I write; gesturing and pointing and dancing along to whatever music I’m listening to, whatever music is stuck in my head.
I talk back, I talk to, I talk out.
I bite my lip a lot.
Try to avoid seeing myself in the screen.
Look away and type. Close my eyes and type. Think faster than I can type.
When it’s too fast, when I can’t catch up, I write things down on paper, shove the pencil across the page and sketch and suggest and get closer than I can on the screen, sometimes.
I shift in my chair. I pet the cats when they hop up, hold the little cat in my lap and poke at the keys with one hand.
I watch the screen for signs of email or Facebook or anything that gives me an excuse not to write, right then.
I flip between my story and my paper and my exam–between I want to do, what I am doing, what should already be done.
I curse, when I have to. Cajole the words to come, sometimes. Try to hold them at bay, at others.
I spend a lot of time unconscious, when I write.
My friend asked: “How can you not see this, in this piece? What I see? Didn’t you write it?”
And I said yes, of course I did, but I wasn’t conscious, at the time. Not in the same way.
And that’s when it’s easy to write, times like that, when it’s necessary, when it’s not me. When the text just comes and I have to get out of the way and transcribe, just type, just let the letters form on their own, without me.
It’s awesome, sometimes, and scary. Writing like that. Like muscle memory. An autonomic function that just is. Just does.
So someone watching me write? Might think I was possessed, a little. And they’d be right.
And sometimes I feel as though school–the first 12 years of it, at least–was designed to exorcise those demons, to drive them out and pour clarity, obedience, respect down my throat, into their place.
And those things rested easier, I guess, gave me less of a hard time than the demons that drive my writing did. But wow, was I boring, and shit, was I unhappy, and I think I’ll take possession over that, everytime.