Writing is a crystaliser (not a word) of thoughts. It is the equivalent of capturing photos of your mind, allowing you to see your thoughts, the way you would look up at the clouds and make out their ever-changing shapes.

But you can’t expect to turn every thought into something useful, because most of it is just gibberish.

Here’s an example: pickles oranges apples cat. Random words that just passed through my caffeinated mind. Words that have no context, and no use for us in this particular moment. And yet. 

That’s the thing about writing. You get to take readers on a journey through your mind. To share perspectives, like showing them photos of your child. And you never know where each thought could end up. Because I didn’t know where I’d end up going when I first typed those four words. AND YET.

Yet, those four words are teaching me new things about myself. That writing doesn’t have to be a romantic gesture that happens only when you have a two-hour block of time (I’m writing this on the bus ride to work). The words are telling me that a story does not need to adhere to a ‘blog structure’, or even have a comprehensible title. They’re saying that perhaps I should stop taking myself so seriously.

Perhaps you have the space to do the same. To stop putting off that silly idea of learning to sail. Or starting a sketchbook in the face of your doubts. Or building that sacrificial altar you’ve been planning to but just haven’t gotten around to harvesting goat blood.

All I’m saying is, perhaps you should pickles oranges apples cat.