I believe that it is life altering events which shape us as writers.  They guide us, though not in the romanticized manner you would expect.

When faced with the end of one’s life, I do not believe that any rational human being thinks; “I wish I had written that novel” in lieu of “I wish I had spent more time with my family”.  We do not long for the solitude of a closed room and a computer with which to create, when faced with an uncertain future.  We crave human contact.

This is the catch-22 that is writing.  It is human contact which instinctively we need to survive, as well as to lend credibility to our words, and yet the very act of writing is one which removes us from others. 

The question becomes, if human contact makes us better writers, how then does writing reciprocate?

I’ve needed to think about this for some time.  Nearly a year, in fact.

It is interesting how the mind functions at times when one doesn’t know if a heaven exists or if someone will be there waiting for us… or if our heart will hold out long enough to see another setting sun.

Events take on importance when you are not ready.  Consequences take on gravity.  And words become one’s only way of making amends, showing affection, explaining one’s actions and making change.

In this way, those of us who express ourselves better in writing thrive.  Certainly, the days of written letters are long behind us, however we still live in a time driven by words.  Between e-mails, text and instant messages, blogs and Twitter or Facebook pages, we live in a world very much in touch with emotions conveyed through letters… though now they are electronic.

Still, they are words… with which to prove ourselves in the eyes and conscious of others.  To live more truly… if but for a moment before exiting that lonesome room and finding company… someone to sit on the porch with and tell lies, watching the sun set yet again.

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