As a writer, I feel a little detached from the world. I guess to a degree that there is some necessary in that, or at least some normality. I think that it is pretty important to be able to dive into my own mind and pull out ideas and stories to work on. I have to have some trust in my imagination and I wonder if I was so engaged in the outside world would I be a writer? I don't know? I know that some people use the experiences garnered in the outside world as inspiration for their pieces? Writing about life experiences which have happened to you is the kind of hands-on expertise knowledge to help form deeper connections with characters. I've been there, largely through experiencing depression and using what I faced in the outside world around me. However, I then internalised it all to go through what was arguably my most prolific period of writing. So even with all that external acknowledgement I found it all coming back, as I said, internally. All of this got me to thinking about my purpose in the world recently. Yes, I'm a writer and stereotypically anti-social, I like my own space and don't exactly feel as if I have anything to contribute to the survival of the human race. Here's what I was pondering. If we are indeed all humans (which I at least assume we are, I wonder if I was dropped here from another planet sometimes) then we should all relatively be the same. We shouldn't arrive on this earth with so many differences to pull us all in directions to an individual means, should we. If the goal is enhancing the collective to ensure the survival of the human race, which is the most basic purpose and instinct there is, then why aren't we all built to do that? What basically, would be the purpose of me being born to be antisocial and withdrawn and not participate in most of what is happening externally? For some reason, I turned my question of purpose to bats. It's not as if you would see a bat decide that he didn't want to sleep on the ceiling anymore and go and cozy up to a rock on the floor for some shut-eye. That bat would be an outcast and not part of the strength of the collective because I assume he would be putting himself in danger of being isolated and probably be a midnight snack for a snake. So as much as he didn't want to be on the ceiling on the more, to be different, there comes a weakness in pulling away and being different. I am that bat(man) on the outside of the group and my weakness because of it was being pulled further to the very darkest side of depression. Why was I made to not fit in? I'm completely in a much brighter place now, but I still wonder about purpose. A lot! Writing is one of the most important things in my life and, therefore, it has to serve a purpose, right? What could such a purpose be? I went on a little journey for the deeper purpose of my writing purpose and this is what I came up with (in no particular order).
What is the purpose to your purpose? Feel free to discuss below. Thanks to an article I randomly discovered (the method of discovery becoming more pertinent as I read on) at FiveThirtyEight.com I realise that I have no reason to feel so alone in a writing process which is generally pretty scattered and random. The start of my own writing process takes one of three directions which will eventually lead me to a story. These random explosions are then written down somewhere (not in an organised fashion) then looked at later to try and pull something out of them. Title I feel I’m pretty good at coming up with titles (most of the time) and they usually spark a story into life, because they can sum a whole story up in one sentence. The title-origination is the closest I ever get to writing a story from the actual start. Random Sentence Often I will just have a random sentence from nowhere which has no place in anything, has no context or bigger concept to it. Paragraph idea The bigger version of the random sentence is when an obscure paragraph just falls out of my head. Again, it doesn’t matter what kicked it off, it’s just an unstructured, yet expanded thought which will end up getting worked into a story somewhere and at some point. I have had paragraphs which have started life in one story and have ended up in another, that’s how random things get. What all those sparks of creativity have in common is that they are just scattered, random and fragmented thoughts which have appeared through zero planning or structured thought. But maybe this isn’t a bad thing. Maybe working in such an unstructured and unplanned way is the best way to get into the room where your creativity is stored. Usually, I have to put my shoulder against the door and shove hard if I actually stop and try to structure and plan something for a story. When that happens, for me creativity is hard to get a hold of. Some people don’t get the randomness, the unstructured work and thought process. But it is a part of what has made me a writer and while I don’t feel bad about frankly being a disorganised mess, but still it’s nice having a bit of confirmation that I may actually be working in an ideal way to produce creative work. It’s all down to a study based on an algorithmic principle which “pointed the way to creativity in science, art, culture and life," as highlighted in a book by scientist Kenneth Stanley called “Why Greatness Cannot Be Planned: The Myth of the Objective.” Serendipity may not be as random as it makes itself out to be. There is a great site called Picbreeder which highlights all this where users select random pictures and without deliberately piecing them together, the potential of those selected pictures all put together can end up being something wonderfully artistic. It’s like creating a butterfly from a random blob of ink. So if like me you are a “messy” worker then there’s no need to fret, it will probably lead you to some brilliantly creative end products, better even that those stories which have been laid out from the start with a specific objective. |