Why do I need to write things down? No offense, but I’m not usually thinking about you when I do this. I’m mostly talking to myself. (Is that a second me, or am I divided?) But why do I need to write to me? I already know what I think. Surely the act of writing is an impulse to reach out to an Other. But I don’t want anyone reading my journals, so why do I write things down? And then there are things I write that I DO seem to want someone else to hear — things I’ve labored over, chipped away at, brought to bear what knowledge I have of the art and craft of writing. But why? Do I need you to sometimes nod at my thoughts, and say, “Yes, me too. You are not alone.”? But by writing things down to share with you, I run the risk of you saying, “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Therefore you are alone.” Or there’s the risk of: “I get you, but disagree, and therefore although you are not alone, we are together but essentially alone.” And maybe worse, sharing my creative output runs the risk that you will think you get what I’ve said, but you don’t get what I mean. The way these two clouds are seeming to converge and, to me from far below, appear to make new shapes, but in fact, I soon see from the wind’s work, that they are miles apart from each other and have never touched at all. Is the impulse to create art inherently an impulse to communicate? Or is it something else entirely?