Writing means a lot to me. Ever since I wrote my first paragraph back in the first grade (I believe it was about horses?), I’ve been fascinated with communicating my thoughts though written words. Since then I’ve written the gamut from 20-page essays to financial proposals to five-line poems and I have not grown weary. Frustrated? Many times, but even when I’m at my witt’s end trying to come up with the perfect way to say something, I’m in heaven.
Writing also scares me at times. The power of the written word is tremendous. Many times I’ve abused it, underestimated it, cheapened it. I’ve hurt and been hurt by the written word several times and even been reduced to tears. I’ve even been moved to action almost instantly, as if I was being controlled. To submit to that power is one thing, but then to realize you have acquired the means (however meager) to harness is awesomely scary. I just pray that when I do make mistakes when it comes to the written word, I have the sense to learn from them and correct them if I have the chance.
Lastly, when I think about writing, I think about freedom. When, I write, I escape. Everything around me goes away and I enter this world that only I and the page know. When I say everything, I mean everything. I’m what you would call a “seclusionist writer.” Right now as I write this, my TV is on mute and my condo is completely silent. I am in a distraction-free zone and something about that is calming, relaxing, freeing. I’m free to roam wherever my mind chooses to take me and write now my mind is saying, “I’m sleepy! Let’s go to bed.”