Photo by Hartwig HKD

I don’t often link to blog posts on this website. Usually, Twitter, Facebook and Google + are the places for me to recommend other writers and artists.

This morning though the children were woken early by my husband leaving for a meeting. I sent them back to bed for a while, but instead of burrowing under the covers for another hour of sleep, I checked my phone and stumbled across a post written by a reader of this blog. I’d never visited Jack Davis’ blog before, but his name popped up in my feed, familiar from visiting my site.

Jack’s post, and his art, moved me. In it he talks about his relationship with his older brother, who has autism. The writing is clear and the honesty burns off the page. Read it. You won’t be sorry.

It reminds me, too, about how written words are an uninterrupted conversation. When we speak, even when we are being supportive, we are compelled to break into the conversation, to be heard. To agree, to validate, to dissent.

With words on paper, the conversation still happens, but it is unrushed, with more space for thoughts to percolate and fewer tiny adjustments to accommodate our conversation partner.

We write to uncover buried thoughts, to find freedom and space on the page, to find support in the empty whiteness. When I write I am not conscious of the tap tap of the keyboard or the glow of the screen. Just that connection to my inner world, a meditation of sorts.

Writing: an old art, and an absolutely necessary one.