On Writing

Reading time: 2 mins

One day I’ll figure out how many words I type in an average (week)day. I have absolutely no idea what that total will be but I can already guess that it’ll scare the bejesus outta me. Be they emails, instant messages, text messages, documents, presentations, spreadsheets, blog posts, blog comments, articles or just jotting down items in my to do list, words dominate my day.

I hate them.

Well I don’t hate them, but I certainly abuse them on a regular basis. Mind you, given the amount of abuse the English language gets, and given that a lot of it is brought about by the language itself, with it’s twisting, turning rules and exceptions, part of thinks the words welcome the abuse, I think they kinda like it.The English language is the sadomasochist of the linguistic world.

Of course my job makes it difficult to avoid words so between us we’ve developed a love/hate relationship. I try and use them properly, they promise not to bite me in the ass too often (although between you and me, I’m not sure it’s a very even agreement, I’m SURE the words could try a little harder to be nice).

I don’t hate words.

Truth be told I do still enjoy the thrill of certain combinations of words, the gentle flow and rhythm, the beauty of juxtaposition and the jar of the unexpected. I’ve experimented a little with such things on this very blog, the occasion attempt at something “more”, but I struggle to find my own flow and rhythm, the words jar awkwardly on the screen and every line, every construct, takes it’s toll.

I don’t consider myself a writer here, more a casual scribbler, yet with each passing word the grandiose and ridiculous thought grows in my head, maybe I could?