WHO’S AFRAID OF THE BIG BAD WORD?

I like to write. That would be obvious, I would think. I’ve preferred using the written word to verbal intercourse to communicate my more urgent thoughts, as well as some frivolous ones, for as long as I can remember. For that reason the arrival of email was a wonderful event for me.

The problem, I’ve found, is that a lot of people don’t share my love of written discourse. I used to send friends long missives, written and checked for errors or better verbiage and ways to communicate what I was trying to say. I would anxiously send it off, only to receive…no response, two-sentence responses to my labored-over text, and even just pictures or jokes. Over time I learned who was inclined to write significant responses and who wasn’t. The first group is small. There is my sister, my niece, and one friend. There is a larger group that responds, but not as thoroughly as I would like. One friend usually responds to my emails with a phone call. He’s of above-average intelligence, is certainly literate, but prefers to flap his gums on the phone than engaging in the arduous task of actually writing. I don’t.

Writing provides me with the opportunity to mull over what I want to say, word it carefully, and present it in the best way that I can, something that speaking extemporaneously does not. The biggest problem that I have with emailing involves time constraints, and I know that that is a problem for many. I understand that and empathize. But the thing about not wanting to write…? I don’t get it. Of course, I wouldn’t expect to. It’s like a friend once said to me when I was wondering why two men would want to be sexually intimate with each other: He said that if I understood it I would most likely be a homosexual so I should be grateful that I didn’t. (Not politically correct? Good. Maybe I can get some comments for a change.)

I enjoy writing. Many people don’t. I enjoy reading. Many people don’t. I don’t get it, but I don’t understand why, say, Celine Dion has become rich singing cloying, pedantic love songs in her patented exaggerated, annoying way. That I don’t understand it has made her no less wealthy so I guess that I should get over it. In time I guess that I’ll get over other’s aversion to writing.