Saturday, September 8, 2007
Sunday Scribblings: Writing
I am able to tune out all around me, just as I am able to do so when reading a good book. The television can be on. The kids can be playing. The youngest can be acting so silly with his even sillier daddy. I can withdraw with surprising ease.
I write the blog. I write the random thoughts. I write outlines for the book. I write chapters of the book. I write dialogue. I write a column I envision for the local paper. I write haiku.
When I am alone, I write. When I am sad, I write. When I am angry, I write. When I am moved, I write. After I read, I write. After I dream, I write. After I write, I write.
It has not always been this way. I have always wanted to be a writer, but up until very recently, my writing was limited to reports, to communications, to colleagues. What I wrote was good, but it meant nothing to me. It was not my writing. It was just me writing.
And now it is all my writing. I am a writer. Whether I ever find a reader, I am a writer.
[Thank you, as always, to Sunday Scribblings for allowing me my writing. Read others’ writing by clicking here.]
I mentioned to Eldest the other night that I had a fairly wide open day Friday. Writer that he is, he wondered if I would perhaps like a wri...
As an infant, we have the power to induce love and tenderness in the toughest of men and women. As a young child, we have the power to soar ...
Something is happening in my life right now that I waver between sharing and keeping to myself. And I say I waver only because I’m a firm be...