On Finding a Topic

Dear Reader,   

It has recently been brought to my attention that, more often than not, I sit down in front of a computer or a blank piece of paper, ready to write either for pleasure or necessity and suddenly realize that I have nothing to write about.

It’s not that I have nothing to say; on the contrary, I can be a very chatty person. It is rather that I come face to face with the fear that what I have to say will not sound as good on paper as it does in my head. Beyond this, it is the fear that no one will be interested in what I have to write. It is hard to gauge what readers will find interesting, engaging, or enthralling.

Yet, somehow, I always manage to come up with something. I have never missed turning in a paper for the lack of a paper. So how is it that I am able to spirit a topic to write about out of thin air?

Outside, the clouds are finally clearing up, and it is looking like it will turn out to be a sunny and warm day. Where I come from, we can expect 300 days of sunshine on average, and the extreme lack of sunshine in favor of rain for the past few weeks has done a number on my temperament .

Accordingly then, I set down this post for a moment to go out and enjoy the sun, whilst thinking about what it is that inspires me to write. For me, as I’ve said, the desire to write does not usually stem from any specific stroke of inspiration. Rather, it emerges from my ever present desire to make something. I enjoy making things; I love cooking, I’m an avid knitter, and I spend at least a day every few months absorbed in making candles and then regretting it whilst scraping dried wax off of the stove top. But regardless, I like making things and writing, for me, is an act of craftsmanship where words are the paints and my fingers are the brushes. Writing is the best way for me to make something from my very mind; paper and pencil are all I need to write.

But more than that, writing and reading encompass my being. Thoreau wrote, “A written word is the choicest of relics. It is something at once more intimate with us and more universal than any other work of art. It is the work of art nearest to life itself”. Perhaps it is this closeness to life that makes writing such a special act for me: it somehow makes me feel more alive.

As always, dear reader, I wish you the best, 
- Julia