The Writer’s Sword: On Obsession, Purpose, and the Poetics of Time
This raw, stream-of-consciousness entry explores the intimate process of writing as both compulsion and purpose—grappling with time, intention, and the desire to create something meaningful before life slips away. It reflects on the role of art, the nature of time, and the writer’s duty to give form to the ineffable.
So much thought and planning. Tossing and turning.The machinations of work and objects of thought.Let not this be too separate from action and motion.And like all good things—don’t think practice constitutesa race. You have to sign up for these things in life.Make them happen. They don’t just appear, and youwant more than a pile of notebooks buried withyou when you die.
I wonder if the writing is for me or for something greater.Not sure where it even came from.My college writing course is the first time I can recall my giftfor writing—and also the ability to take copious noteson a topic as it is presented, and follow along.
In some ways, I might be able to do italong with whatever is happening, sinceit also calms me and gives my mind something to dowhen surrounded by life’s bluster and commitment.
All these words and thoughts.Yes, I do not wish for these thoughts to have been in vain—and yet, for what do I write? For whom?And what is my style and genre?Who is my muse?What even is a muse—do I need one, do I have one,does it matter?
No. In this arena of freewriting, nothing matters.It is just ink rolling out on paper.There are beautiful passages,art that needs to get out—and you can feel it trapped in your chest.
Look at you, writing like no other.Being able to keep that above all else.Like a furious compulsion,the one thing you can managewhen you wish to do no other.Think through—and do.
Writing is my obsession and unique ability.It is my sword. My instrument.And I just have to look for the story.For there is a story—it is my job to figure out how to unlock itbefore time runs out.
If time is always running,how can it run out?Where does it go?You can’t see it, feel it—it belongs to none.
In this regard, time seems wholly made up and fabricated,a measuring instrument—which is quite something I enjoy.But on the other hand,it just isn’t real.
And I’m not sure that it always proceedsin such a linear fashion as our instruments suggest.Our understanding—and the limits thereof—also only allow us to measure in those same directions.You can only know what you can measure.And as your knowledge grows,then there will be new ways to measure, compare, cut, and design.
Use the time you have wisely.Every second counts—and those that do not,they count as well.
When you have downtime, ensure to recharge properly.And yes, there is downtime—and times when you need your battery full.The soldier is always preparingand ready for the call and battle of life.
These are easy times in comparison to others lives and times—and that needs to be taken into account.It is your duty to write and contributeand do something useful with your time here—brief as it is.
Only an obsessed mindcan manage to produce a truly significant work of artin the time allotted.
For most weary folk—perish early and dwell—there is only one way:produceand keep producing.