February 25, 2022
We should all write more. Thoughts are cunning. When you look at them in your mind, they assume a facade of sensibility. It should be safe to say that many people, myself included, do not look past this veil often enough. For me, writing represents an opportunity to draw out thoughts into a turf where they are far from comfortable—the turf of a writer's canvas. The writer's canvas is two-dimensional; thoughts cannot erect a pleasant facade in this land. They lie bare, stripped of all pretensions, naked, for the mind to conduct its examination free of all prejudice and prepossession. This is why writing is beautiful.
Indeed, speech could be used as an avenue to the same effect; albeit it is certainly less effective than writing at deconstructing the false-ceiling of sense: in speech, you have at your disposal a multitude of rhetorical and theatrical devices, which could be all used to charm the listener into acquiescence, and most importantly, acceptance of your ideas, flawed however as they may be (this is, of course, assuming you're not speaking to yourself). To be sure, you could use such contrivances in writing—as many people probably have— but I dare say such contrivances are fewer in number and less effective in writing. Your pleasing physiognomy, impeccable intonation, precise enunciation, and all other material qualities that so influence one's comprehension of your speech, are all left behind, shackled and incapable of exertion. All the existing rationality in your words now step up and present themselves for review. They do not wield the sword of eloquence, nor the shield of cogency. Let us see how valiantly they stack up now.
Ideas are the mind's currency, and writing is the reserve bank—it is imperative to legalize ideas. You could animate your thoughts by speaking about them, but only when you pen them will you be able to weave a fabric of any conceivable import. This is going to be a journey of my weaving that fabric, and I hope, yours too.