I Write How I Draw

A few weeks ago, a copywriter told me I am a minimalist writer.

Evocative, yet minimalist.

That felt exciting, because I like being a minimalist. My credo is 'meaning vs. more' because I'm tired of the boring sameness everywhere. I like when a thing is weird and deeply touching.

But it also made me curious. I can tell I use minimalism to cope with my ADHD. Less stuff keeps input low, so I don't get overwhelmed. Maybe I was managing my creative output to keep my brain safe.

And then I realized – my creativity didn't start with writing. I learned to draw professionally much earlier than I learned to write for a living.

It only makes sense that I write how I draw.

Drawing taught me that you never show everything. You can't. And there is a profound beauty in that. And responsibility.

Are you showing a soft, dewy morning that just happens to have birds in it – or are you showing how Kingfisher move through the air, chattering?

Instead of trying to convey both, focusing on one makes it infinitely more meaningful.

And you don't need much to convey meaning. You can make a whole bird look feathered with just two or three lines in one corner of a wing.

It is your job to find the right amount of texture to show a pattern.

The observer will fill in the rest.

When I draw, I like to play with that fine line; giving just enough direction to have the observer and I share the same focus, but then let go.

I wouldn't want to dilute its potency and take away its power.

And that is how I like to write. I want to create a feeling, a shared experience, but not crowd your imagination.

Certainly not with words.