I realize this is the second post I’ve made today, but I’m just in a really good writing mood (ugh, rhymes are not helpful at a time like this).

Writing is supposed to make you feel things. But during writing I always seem to want to write about how things make me feel, and I just can’t do it. How the heck are you supposed to write out your emotions? I try all the methods I’ve learned or picked up over the years, but it just never seems right to me. How am I supposed to convey something that is so airy? It’s something you can’t really grab onto unless you feel the exact same way.

Maybe it’s hard for someone to write about their emotions because you know how the emotion feels and you know you can never put it exactly into words. It’s not too difficult to get others to feel something-it only takes a few provocative words, and then they can feel whatever they want. But being able to make someone feel exactly how you are is tough.

Can anyone accomplish this task? For example, I’m reading Fallen Angels by Walter Dean Myers. Just some of the things this book makes me feel-I feel so irritated after reading it sometimes, very snappy and hating on everyone. The book is full of hate and pain, so is that conveyed into my everyday life?

As I’m writing this, I’m rocking back and forth in my chair, and it has wheels, so I’m rolling all around. I’m looking about everywhere except the computer screen, trying to figure out what the heck I’m feeling, and if there’s a way I can tell truly tell you. I’m grimacing and making all these faces at the screen.

I was reading a passage about killing people, and if you don’t know someone, if they are really considered a person. How it was easier to kill the Vietcong because they didn’t know what they ate, what their names were, other stuff like that. (Here comes me trying to convey how this made me feel) The truth hit my core. It made me think but made my stomach like a rock at the same time.

Here’s the direct passage, maybe it’ll be easier if you can read it too. Though I doubt you will have the same exact experience as me.

“I just told him that the war was about us killing people and about people killing us, and I couldn’t see much more to it. Maybe there were times when it was right. I had thought that this war was right, but it was only right from a distance. Maybe when we all got back to the World and everybody thought we were heroes for winning it, then it would seem right from there. But when the killing started, there was no right or wrong except in the way you did your job, except in the way that you were part of the killing.

What you thought about, what filled you up more than anything, was the being scared and hearing your heart thumping in your temples and all the noises, the terrible noises, the screeches and the booms and the guys crying for their mothers or for their wives.

And exciting. It was exciting too. Sometimes, when we were waiting to make a move, to go into some area where we hadn’t been before, it was as if time would never come soon enough. That’s what kept it going somehow, that and the idea that we were better than the Congs. It was that, the knowing that we would win, and the excitement that overcame the being scared. If we just did our job, we would be all right. but I didn’t think it was going to last forever. I was growing too tired. It was good that we were only in Nam for a year. ”

All through the passage, I just felt emotional, but I can’t name the emotion I was feeling-it was almost like a conglomeration of all kinds of emotions, but, at the same time, it really was one true emotion. It was some kind of truth speaking to me, and I felt these words were just…indescribably brilliant. That even sounds too weak for the way they made me feel; the words feel despicable, disgusting, commercialized, being written down here.

I felt like I wanted to cry but my eyes wouldn’t get wet. I made a few whimpering noises, and was grimacing at the page and squirming a little. I wanted to read faster and faster so that I could know everything this person was trying to say, to make me feel, but at the same time I wanted to read incredibly slow and let is all just sink into my being and overcome me. My entire chest and stomach ached terribly, not real pain but that feeling that makes you choke up. Whenever I hit a certain sentence, my stomach would drop a little (but not too much) and churn with some tumultuous storm that was so foreign to me, I couldn’t even place where it had come from. It was all over my chest and stomach. The rest of my body was tingly and numb at the same time. It was not like anything I’d ever felt before.

This line is far overused-“not like anything I’ve ever felt before”-because it is so relevant. Every experience is new in its own way. This is why it’s so hard to make words add up to feelings. Because you only have a small store of words to choose from but unlimited feelings and emotions that no one can ever truly give to someone else.

Well-used words can come close, but they can never make someone feel the same exact emotion as someone else. It’s just impossible.You can write something that means something emotionally to you, but it just won’t hold the same feeling as what is inside of you at that exact moment.


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