Blooming in the desert

The question is this:  how does a writer continue working on a large project in the absence of external feedback? How do we know we are not simply wasting our scent on the desert air? The question comes down to why we write at all.  For me, the answer is likely to change with my feelings, and with how well the writing is flowing.  I really don't know why I do this thing - get up in the morning and write something, or play around with something I have already written. Or why hours can go by in a flash, especially if I have somewhere else to go.   Writing feels like a luxury that I indulge in when I am not engaging in the business of real life. Or perhaps it really is a waste of time. I could spend a week on something that is ultimately discarded. Or six months. Years.

Some self talk now: Enough of the self-defeating thoughts! The idea of wasted time comes from an idea of scarcity. Forget about scarcity and dwell in the idea of an abundance of time. Long live abundant time because it is there that new discoveries are made. For me, these weeks, months, years build the scaffolding around the fragile building that will ultimately become a novel. Without the scaffolding, the building would collapse. When the building is strong enough, the scaffolding will no longer be required.

So, today, this morning, the answer to the question as to why I continue working on something that nobody asked for, and maybe on something for which I have no real authority, is that I am building something. It is a kind of Arc in a vast fleet of Arcs. A folly, perhaps. I am endeavouring to harvest the raw materials from the electrical signals that scoot around in my brain in response to my interactions with the world, and bring something into existence. A new story. In the spirit of genuine meglomania, I want to do more than this. I want it to be beautiful. As I work on this grand project, I change myself a little. The story is brought into existence. Maybe it changes the world a little. Like the beat of a wing. It's a bit like life itself.