The Question of Life

In the back of my mind an idea is itching. It's one of those itches that you might feel moreso in the back of your throat (the one where it tickles, and yet itches). You'd keep swallowing to realize that that sensation will not go away--even after drinking a glass of water; but this idea in the back of my mind...it haunts me.

It all started with a dream. A dream in which I thought to be buried deeply within my unconsciousness. I thought that it was going to be just a dream, rather it made me think...I thought it might've  held the key to the number one answer in which mankind asks daily....the question in which we ask ourselves over and over and over again. The question in which there may be no answer to: What is the purpose to life?

I want to write this idea out: not for the sake of answering the question, but for the soul purpose of trying to figure out my life, as a writer and a person.

I feel that most of my ideas form from a dream, or a thought, or an unknown reason...And those thoughts tend to itch at the back of my mind, waiting to be written, waiting to breath life. As a writer, I must question a lot of things and do my best at making them clear to myself and my audience.

And it all starts with: What is the purpose to life?

The outcome is different to each person.

Freewriting for Everyone!

With tired eyes and an absent mind, I write thoughtlessly unaware of ideas--absent from creativity. I write these thoughts down simply because this is what I do when all inspiration has left my thoughts and left me with a blank sheet of paper, or in this case open space, to draw ideas gradually, or possibly never. I feel as if I were a computer loading unknown data while my "Processing...Processing....Processing" screen keeps popping up--driving the hacker or writer or gamer crazy.


This is what I like to call my "freewriting stage." It's the stage where I have nothing to write about, but I write whatever comes to mind at the time. I feel that it is easier to get ideas onto the page by freewriting and then pulling an idea from what I have thus far. Usually my writing can be scatter minded, but within that scatter mind there lies an idea so great, that it'll seem as if I were stricken by an ingenious idea--one in which will blow my reader's mind; which is hardly the case.

An Idea: The Flaws, Editing, and Reediting.

Lately I've been stuck on an idea—an idea that keeps coming to mind, but when it comes to writing it out, I feel that writing it is the most difficult task. Throughout my last couple of years of being a writer I feel that I have to be ‘forced’ to write, or else I’ll have no other inspiration to write. I do enjoy writing, but it’s usually poetry (it’s fast and easy).

I can write better on a sheet of paper, moreso than writing my thoughts out on a computer. I feel that with writing my thoughts out on paper, I can be less formal and improper—rather than having to be the perfectionist that writers usually are: correct grammar, spelling, and complete sentences. On paper my writing is unofficial and imperfect. I feel that with my ideas, they must hold flaws at first, in order for me to tear the idea down (editing) and building it back up (reediting). I do this about 5-6 times with everything I write.

The Attempting Writer

I'm not a proficient writer, but I do my best to entertain my readers. I write out of sheer pity for myself—creating lives that are less fortunate than my own; not that my life is terrible. I write to inspire, to clear the world with torment and pain. I write to save lives—with my uttermost attempt at inspiring to fulfill one’s needs of satisfaction. I write to make you, my reader(s) cry, laugh, dream, believe, hope, or long to change for the better good—or help those in need of a greater change than yourselves.

            I’m not always the brightest writer in the batch of writers. I am not the most poetic poet, either; nor am I Shakesphere, Whitman, Frost, or any other great writer. I simply write to fulfill my own needs, or even yours—my audiences’. I write to create a world far less fortunate than this one, or even more fortunate. I’m a writer out of sheer waste and time, but to me that wasted time was for my own personal benefit—my own personal gain. I’m not the type of author that is hoping for success; rather I write to find the better meaning of life, from the experiences that I’ve experienced in my own life. -Steve