Love the ending sentence! I wonder what you think about writing in relation to solitude. For me it can sometimes be an alienating process… perhaps it depends.
So writing alienates you from yourself? Say more! I'm curious to hear it.
I find the level of writerly alienation I experience depends on what I'm writing about. If I'm writing in a journal, diary-like, I find the writing forms a narrative self, a more coherent version of my interior self. I'm not sure if the self is being formed in the act of writing or whether it is already formed internally and is simply being expressed on the page. I'd like to hear your thoughts on it, as I know you've studied Freud and Lacan with greater enthusiasm than most.
When I write fiction, my writing is alienating in the best way possible—I leave the self in the shadows and the stage is fronted instead by the character at hand, who of course takes cues from the self in the wings but overall acts autonomously.
Sometimes I find speaking alienating, but perhaps avoiding alienation is a matter of expressive preference...
Our body, itself, constantly distracts us from perfect solitude and daydreaming. From itching, sniffling, sneezing to aches and pains and bloating, nausea and other unpleasant bodily functions, we are constantly distracted. Our own body betrays us!
I find the more time I have alone to think the less I like my thoughts. Should I let my thoughts run their course? Will I conquer anxiety by being anxious? I do not doubt the grounding power of daydreaming for you, but I wonder about those of us us less comfortable in our mind's passenger seat. Is facing the music necessary or masochistic?
I think this essay is the ideal outcome of a liberal arts education
Thank you, Ramsey! That is so kind of you to say. I'm touched!
Love the ending sentence! I wonder what you think about writing in relation to solitude. For me it can sometimes be an alienating process… perhaps it depends.
So writing alienates you from yourself? Say more! I'm curious to hear it.
I find the level of writerly alienation I experience depends on what I'm writing about. If I'm writing in a journal, diary-like, I find the writing forms a narrative self, a more coherent version of my interior self. I'm not sure if the self is being formed in the act of writing or whether it is already formed internally and is simply being expressed on the page. I'd like to hear your thoughts on it, as I know you've studied Freud and Lacan with greater enthusiasm than most.
When I write fiction, my writing is alienating in the best way possible—I leave the self in the shadows and the stage is fronted instead by the character at hand, who of course takes cues from the self in the wings but overall acts autonomously.
Sometimes I find speaking alienating, but perhaps avoiding alienation is a matter of expressive preference...
Our body, itself, constantly distracts us from perfect solitude and daydreaming. From itching, sniffling, sneezing to aches and pains and bloating, nausea and other unpleasant bodily functions, we are constantly distracted. Our own body betrays us!
I find the more time I have alone to think the less I like my thoughts. Should I let my thoughts run their course? Will I conquer anxiety by being anxious? I do not doubt the grounding power of daydreaming for you, but I wonder about those of us us less comfortable in our mind's passenger seat. Is facing the music necessary or masochistic?