anthony north over at beyond the blog has asked that we write a post about writing… what it means to us… i wrote this one back in june… but i just could not say it any better,, so i decided to reprint it here for you today…..
to me,, it is all about the words… i write about me.. as i am all that i know… i write about how i feel and how i see things,, and how the way i see things influences the way i do things… i write for me.. but i am ever so pleased when you join me…
while it is true, in every respect, that i prefer being alone to any other social situation,, i have so enjoyed the company and the feeling of belonging that i have when i am here… on this page… i feel at home.. here, with you….
you will never know, and quite frankly i would be embarrassed to tell you,, how much time i spend each day thinking about,, composing, writing, re-writing, editing, correcting, and finding the exact artistic accoutrement that i want to become my finished work… my offering of the day… my gift not only to you… but to myself….
i have written all my life… yet,, i have shared few pieces of my written self with anyone… ever… till now…
in recent years, for whatever reason, i could not really put pen to paper… or finger to key.. the disintegration of my writings over the course of the past few years, saw them becoming more of a to do list,,, and less a window to my soul… i became disillusioned. i became afraid .. it was as if my words had fallen asleep,, and no amount of desire on my part could lure them back….
i am, and have always been,, fascinated with the words, their power, their authority, the feeling of control i have when they string themselves together in such a way as to replicate,, feeling,, emotion,, life… their ability to carry me along,, drag me,, toss and turn me,, as sometimes they fly from the tips of my fingers with such force,, that i cannot move fast enough to accommodate their urgency….
they come from a place inside of me i cannot touch in any other way.. i cannot coax them out,, i cannot cause them to flow.. but when they do,, it is as if i become their humble servant,, transcribing the rabid dictation that is being given me by this hidden entity inside my head,, and it is with obedience and submissive desire that i allow it to make its presence known,, to flow thru me,, until it climaxes at some point,, of its own discretion… and ebbs away… till the next time it desires to be heard..
but as it if it has breath, and life, and a soul of its own…when it recedes from me… it is gone.. leaving behind only this.. its mark,, its legacy,, the branding of its heart…
when i leave off, i am often exhausted.. but by the same token empowered… if i can read it out loud, and it flows from my lips like i am speaking it for the first time… i am the happiest woman alive….
no matter what the basis for the sentiment is,, no matter how acerbic the text,, prickly the prose,, painful the emotion, or frustrated the feeling…..
it is the words.. the magical words.. they are the gift… they are the offering… as without them.. the rest is nothing….
so when i write, when i offer this up to the paper, to the page, to the reader,, to myself… my gift is more often the poignancy and the magic of the words.. and how they are spoken,, how they flow off the tongue,, how they lead us to places in the heart, we have never been,, and may not want to go… ah yes… that is the true embodiment of the piece.. and not the sentiment at all….
photo:
http://inner.deviantart.com/art/the-Words-25879068
