“For me, it’s not the movement from inside to outside, from self to world. Language is not a vehicle, a means to and end, but is a force — and a domain — in and of itself.”
I could only wish I could write well, but then again, if I don’t do it, how will I know for certain if my wish has come true?

Thought Catalog

We tend to image the writer as someone with a seething internal life for whom writing serves as a kind of vent, a way to let the demons out. We imagine, perhaps, that the will to write comes from a desire to express oneself, to be heard, to be seen, to let all that is in, out.

We know the architecture all too well. Inside we have ideas, feelings, memories; outside is the world. And writing is the go between, the vehicle of expression.

But I enjoy a different architecture of writing with a different configuration of self, language, and world. For me, it’s not the movement from inside to outside, from self to world. Language is not a vehicle, a means to and end, but is a force — and a domain — in and of itself.

Absurd as it may sound, I don’t write to express myself —…

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