I really appreciate this reflection—it reminds me of something the poet Philip Whalen once said. He described writing itself as an addiction, a compulsion that he couldn’t turn away from. For Whalen, like what you describe here, the act of putting words on the page was inseparable from his existence. It wasn’t about producing a “finished” piece or chasing perfection, but about feeding that daily need to write. Your post really captures that same sense of writing as both a necessity and a way of framing life itself.
There's a place in my brain I need to inhabit every day for at least a few hours if I want to feel grounded and at peace. Writing takes me to that place. So does watching great films. So does reading something great. With the advent of the internet, I discovered to my surprise that visiting meaningful virtual spaces brings me there, as well. I am not talking about silly videos; I mean reading essays like yours. And my collecting takes me there. I collect 20th-century historical ephemera, and when I spend time curating the past, all is well in the world. I am relieved that activities other than writing quell my panic. When I was younger, before I achieved some worldly success, I felt the writing-lash on my back every single day, and it was brutal.
Funnily enough, right now I'm reading Enrique Vila-Matas's book Bartleby & Co. about writers who do NOT write. Of course the irony is that Vila-Matas is in fact writing up a storm. But it so beautifully illustrates the constant battle that creative people have with the idea of production/creation and facing the proverbial blank screen/paper/canvas.
Thanks once again Tosh, I am a “keeper of the journal” and I collage the front cover of each new one. As of today I am finishing #252. And it’s not literature. It’s just for me, my 50 cups of coffee! To semi quote Mark Armstrong.
I really appreciate this reflection—it reminds me of something the poet Philip Whalen once said. He described writing itself as an addiction, a compulsion that he couldn’t turn away from. For Whalen, like what you describe here, the act of putting words on the page was inseparable from his existence. It wasn’t about producing a “finished” piece or chasing perfection, but about feeding that daily need to write. Your post really captures that same sense of writing as both a necessity and a way of framing life itself.
There's a place in my brain I need to inhabit every day for at least a few hours if I want to feel grounded and at peace. Writing takes me to that place. So does watching great films. So does reading something great. With the advent of the internet, I discovered to my surprise that visiting meaningful virtual spaces brings me there, as well. I am not talking about silly videos; I mean reading essays like yours. And my collecting takes me there. I collect 20th-century historical ephemera, and when I spend time curating the past, all is well in the world. I am relieved that activities other than writing quell my panic. When I was younger, before I achieved some worldly success, I felt the writing-lash on my back every single day, and it was brutal.
I know the feeling, Allison.
Funnily enough, right now I'm reading Enrique Vila-Matas's book Bartleby & Co. about writers who do NOT write. Of course the irony is that Vila-Matas is in fact writing up a storm. But it so beautifully illustrates the constant battle that creative people have with the idea of production/creation and facing the proverbial blank screen/paper/canvas.
Vila-Matas is one of my all-time favorite writers at the moment. He's incredible. And I especially like Barteby & Co.
Thanks once again Tosh, I am a “keeper of the journal” and I collage the front cover of each new one. As of today I am finishing #252. And it’s not literature. It’s just for me, my 50 cups of coffee! To semi quote Mark Armstrong.
Very, so, excellent.
This vibrant post gave me a lift. It was better than 50 cups of coffee! ☕️😋💦
Excellent! Good for your health!
my hero
I'm at your service, Elspeth.