I don’t want to say “don’t write with your ego”. Because what do I know? Write what you want, I guess. But this “want” comes from somewhere I cannot control. I can’t choose what I want. Nor choose who I love. Because I would have chosen the easiest option long ago. But how do I know that? What am I talking about?
There is a certain prestige in being a writer. And you may want to be seen to be a writer. And you may want to write clever things that might some day be quoted. And perhaps that is your intention. And this intention may be detected by the reader. And then you’ve been found out. Found out wanting people to think highly of you. That’s ok. I do it all the time. I’m a bit of a wanker, you see. I’m jerking off in front of you right now. Impressive, hey? But the one jerking off is usually having more fun than the spectator. With exceptions. There are always exceptions.
But I think I’m writing what I want. I seem to be having fun. Weeeeee!
I was going to write about what I call the Ego and the Divine. That there are two voices inside you. One wanting to impress, and the other to connect. I’ve been writing things down for a while and I’m starting to tell the difference. I don’t want to be too desperate to avoid ego in the writing, because wanting to be seen to be ego-free is an ego thing itself. But when I read back what I write, I prefer the divine to the ego. As I perceive it.
When I manage to put the ego aside, the words seem to write themselves. But how do I explain the editing and the rephrasing? Wouldn’t the divine get it right on the first try? Perhaps the divine doesn’t want you to know that it is writing for you, so it throws in these little tricks. To make you feel like you are doing it. The left hand mustn’t know what the right hand is doing. I’m not sure what that means but the divine told me to write it. And that. And so on.
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