Shattered wind begins to gather across the green mountains. The sun hides behind a cloud, spilling its orange rays. There is thunder in the distance. I'm all alone. I'm scared.Where am I going?
I mostly write to sort out my own thoughts. Why am I not writing poetry anymore? Why do I insist on ignoring the journal that sits on my night stand? It shouldn't be a love/hate relationship. I need to be inspired. I heard once I should always make myself happy --- If someone's not happy, they need to change their situation. I intend to do that one day, but for now, I'm stuck.
These are the thoughts that surpass my somewhat intellectual mind. I love to feel the rain on my face. When will someone look into my soul? I wish there was someone who could. I wish there was someone who could see deep down into my throat and see more than the universe. More than the beginning. I wish I knew who I was in a previous life so maybe I could know what I'm capable of.
I'm less fortunate because I've seen the bad in people. Or perhaps that makes me more fortunate. I've seen hell. I've seen the devil before... and I know the devil has seen me. Sometimes we look at one another in the mirror. Yes... I think I'm less fortunate. Funny thing with drugs...
I Am... free.
But, I want to feel free.
That sun finally came out. As for me, I'm still rolling in the undertones of darkness. I'm fooling around with misery and depression. I'm getting by, still breathing, but a corpse more or less. Perhaps I need glasses to see better what's in store for me on this earth. Perhaps...
Friday, July 25, 2008
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6 comments:
Let me tell you, we all want to be "inspired." We all want the muse to come down and kick us in the lounge muffins and make us do something great, important, lasting, eternal. It doesn't happen that way. Writing is about showing up at the page and putting in your time. It's about being there and ready when that inspiration does come. If you want to write, then write. Forget about fame and publishing and all the glory. Be in love with the words. The power of the language. Let this passion you have soak through the fabric of grammar, syntax, spelling. Things that last are things that have required long, slogging hours of work, and in the mechanics of the process, in the design of the structure, there comes a flash of greatness. Let that lightning strike you with your hands open. Hey, this is nearly 20 years of teaching writing talking. I look forward to coming back to this blog and seeing what you put up, so don't disappoint me.
that is some of the best advice i've ever receieved. knowing that it came from a perfect stranger makes me even happier.
Don't mention it. I wish you well.
Dreamer,
Thanks for reading and commenting on the old blog. I'm curious as to how you found it. As it happens, I have a newer project, Blue Island Almanack, that I write with a couple of others. The focus there is more on ideas than on prose, but it is writing nonetheless.
I have to agree with TMW. Writing, like anything else, is largely a matter of choice. We don't find time for it, we create time for it.
If I might volunteer something that helped me as a writer: I had a technical writing professor my senior year of college who advised her students to carry a notebook everywhere and to write down ideas, phrases, thoughts, observations, &c anywhere they came about. This expanded my outlook a great deal. I started writing poetry, snippets of fiction that turned into stories, and essays that have collectively shaped how I live.
I actually used to carry a journal around with me in my purse. For some reason I stopped. I will start doing that again. I also hope I keep up with this blog.
you remind me of MY morgan SO much and SO SO much of me 3 years ago... you're rad. you should be friends with my morgan- since your kinda sorta a little bit related.
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