a child scribbles

I remember the cheesy line quite well. It was in a French movie. A musical of sorts. Have you ever loved for love's own sake?

Now let me rephrase. Have you ever written for writing's own sake?

Interestingly, I find it hard to say yes. Because as far as I'm concerned, I've written for all sorts of reasons. Vengeance is somewhere near the top of my list. Good grades is probably at the peak. To make people fall in love, or fall out of love, is also somewhere at the summit. Occasionally, I write to save my ass from some trouble I've brewed (i.e. excuse letters, medical certificates, ahem, ahem). But rarely, almost never, just for writing itself.

Maybe that is what I have to redo. To write as a child writes--to never worry of spilled ink, of hidden meanings, of superficial purposes, of what word to write next, of whom to please and, more importantly, of whom to irritate. To write with complete freedom. To write for writing's own sake. And to hell with everything else.