The impulse to write things down is a peculiarly compulsive one, inexplicable to those who do not share it, useful only accidentally, only secondarily, in the way that any compulsion tries to justify itself. I suppose that it begins or does not begin in the cradle.
The impulse for much writing is homesickness. You are trying to get back home, and in your writing you are invoking that home, so you are assuaging the homesickness.
The impulse to write things down is a peculiarly compulsive one, inexplicable to those who do not share it
There's a lot of landscape I never would have described if I hadn't been homesick. The impulse was nostalgia.
There's a general impulse to distract the grieving person - as if you could.
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