I am constantly living in the shadow of the desire to write, the desire for writing. Whatever else I do, I do it under the influence of this desire. It is not necessarily a desire to write well, though I desire this too. It is not necessarily a desire for writing in a certain medium, though I have my preferences in this regard. It is a desire simply to write myself as such, on the page, on the conversation, on the landscape, on the palate.
The desire for writing is not simply the desire to preserve a trace of myself through the things that I mark. If this were the whole of it, I would not choose to write so often in ways that are so ephemeral, in planting, in cooking, in speaking. The desire for writing is less a desire to preserve myself into the future than it is a desire to realize myself more fully in the present. It is the desire to be more fully.