Ripping

My first example of freewriting. It is awfully frustrating. I want to fling the notebook across the room. I feel like I am writing nonsense. Out of the nonsense are also nonsensical words – words that mean nothing – words I have made up in the moment of madness as I stumble across the page.

A day later as I read back over my first exercise in freewriting, I realize there might be some jewels here among the insanity of my mind in words. There may be something of worth.

At times when I write, I find that I have a lot of dialogue and action. I also fit in description here and there – sometimes this works and it is in among the action and sometimes it does not. However, I do not seem to have the paragraphs where authors (or rather their characters) deliberate. Where they reflect on the world or their lives or anything else that helps the reader to build up an image in their minds of what this imaginary world is made of.

And there on the page, among this freewriting insanity, I see the possible beginnings of these deliberations. Maybe there is something to this freewriting all along – something else apart from nonsense, practice, limbering up, etc. Maybe the glint of creation.