This is part of a series of posts.
Come back when I’m finished and I’ll link them together.
But for now, the first one.
Being, Doing, Having
Being leads to doing leads to having.
Be a writer. Do writing. Do it long enough, and you’ll have a piece of writing as a result. Do it long enough, and you’ll have skilz.
Be. Do. Have.
But doing does not lead to being.
Forcing someone who is not a writer to do writing is a form of abuse. It leads to frustration.
So what do I do once I’m a writer?
What’s the answer?
Here’s something I’ve learned: If I look carefully at what I’m doing, and intend to find answers, I can find answers.
Right now, I am writing.
And intending to find answers.
And what I discover is an illusion.
After watching myself write, I start to consider that writing might be an illusion. This should not surprise me. Everything is an illusion. I’ve written about this before:
Waking up and the illusion of the self Simple illusions and multi-layered illusions. They’re all just illusions. The only thing I can be certain of Ideas are illusions — we’re only in trouble when we think they are real Here, there, and everywhere
Why should writing be different?
Here’s a test for illusions I learned from Sam Harris’ book “Waking up.” Look carefully. See what changes. If what you were looking at changes radically—or even disappears—then it was an illusion.
As I write, I look more carefully. Before long, I see through the illusion.
I’m not writing.
I’m not writing this sentence.
Even though I’ve decided that I’m a writer, I don’t write.
I sit. I intend. And writing appears.
How writing appears
Then, after the writing appears, I read what has appeared. And then I judge its quality.
That’s what it is.
Find out why, here. (This will be a link to the next post in the series)