I find that the more I write, the more I find I have to say. Not just in writing, but in general. Writing makes me think. It makes me take note of the world. It raises questions that can grow into conversations that last for hours, leaving pots of coffee drained and the participants invigorated.
Writing stirs everything up to the surface of your brain, to be skimmed off onto the page. Consequently, if there are some things that get stirred up and not skimmed off onto a page, or a conversation, or expressed somehow, the surface gets clogged.
I can tell when there’s something I’m avoiding dealing with, because first, conversation gets hard. When everything is moving as it should, introverted little ol’ me can chatter with the best of them, because the overflow of those topics writing stirs up feeds the pool of “what I have to say.” The “thing I’m not dealing with” starts to grow across the surface of my mind, like algae on a pond, taking over everything. It starts choking out the other stirrings, or making them impossible to see.
If I’m not smart enough to deal with whatever it is after I find that I can’t make conversation anymore, then it starts to get hard to write, as well. The “thing left unsaid” starts shouting so loud to be heard, nothing else can get a word in edgewise.
It is generally at this point that I find someplace, somewhere, to skim the algae onto. Sometimes its hard to do that. Sometimes, the reason I haven’t expressed this particular thought or whatever is because it’s ugly or painful, and I’d rather just pretend it isn’t there. But invariably, I make myself deal with it in some form or fashion, and the pond clears up, and the ideas start bubbling again, and I’m no longer stuck in awkward silence mode.
And one of these days, Chris is going to get smart enough to treasure the times of silence while they last. 😉