Me? Stop writing? NEVER!!
I was out and about checking my email earlier and ran across a comment for this blog. In it was the request that I do not stop writing.
I was deeply touched by this, I mean, it's nice to know people actually read this stuff and get something out of it. But I still recoiled at the mere thought of never writing again. Egads. Not write? It's one of the strongest urges I've ever had, this writing thing!! It doesn't always make sense even to me, and it doesn't stay particularly consistent, but to even think of ... well, let's just say that it's unlikely my writing will ever cease so long as I've got enough fingers to type with and a brain that isn't caught in the eighties while I drool in my lap.
Heck, I'd probably type with my toes if my fingers disappeared.
Anywho, I was struck with awe upon reading those wonderful words. The better portion of my life was spent struggling with myself. I've relied upon others' work to bring me joy, despair, humour, emotion. Music, poetry, stories, television, long talks about someone's troubles - these all allowed me to reflect upon my own life, to see different perspectives, to experience lives outside of my own. For a long time it was a way to circle the perimeter of my reality. Now it's become a wonderful basket full of knowledge for me to pluck from whenever I need to figure something out.
Despite my struggles, people have continuously told me I how bright, talented, and warm I am. While I felt frightened and weak, others saw an inner light glowing steadily. I don't yet know how people "see" these things, but now I understand that the inner light is in everyone. I found mine!
At one time, writing was the only way for my soul to cry, or to be afraid, or even to be happy. So I began to wonder, "What exactly does writing do for me, even now that I'm aware of who I am?" Expression is number one on my list. I'm full of expression. It leaks out each of my pores every time I move with the slightest of breaths. I feel sometimes as if it's a life form within me, continuously expanding and pushing the limits of its bodily confinement, i.e., me. It's a restless spirit, one that cannot be repressed, hampered, or silenced. It wants out. It shouts to be heard, to catch a glimpse of the outside world even if for only a moment in order to find a new source for its many wandering thoughts. At one time it was upset and beat its wings against the bars of its cage. Now it's freeing its friends.
Computers are my life, but writing is my inner core. Even English class failed to extinguish this flame. No, I won't ever stop writing.
~nv
I was deeply touched by this, I mean, it's nice to know people actually read this stuff and get something out of it. But I still recoiled at the mere thought of never writing again. Egads. Not write? It's one of the strongest urges I've ever had, this writing thing!! It doesn't always make sense even to me, and it doesn't stay particularly consistent, but to even think of ... well, let's just say that it's unlikely my writing will ever cease so long as I've got enough fingers to type with and a brain that isn't caught in the eighties while I drool in my lap.
Heck, I'd probably type with my toes if my fingers disappeared.
Anywho, I was struck with awe upon reading those wonderful words. The better portion of my life was spent struggling with myself. I've relied upon others' work to bring me joy, despair, humour, emotion. Music, poetry, stories, television, long talks about someone's troubles - these all allowed me to reflect upon my own life, to see different perspectives, to experience lives outside of my own. For a long time it was a way to circle the perimeter of my reality. Now it's become a wonderful basket full of knowledge for me to pluck from whenever I need to figure something out.
Despite my struggles, people have continuously told me I how bright, talented, and warm I am. While I felt frightened and weak, others saw an inner light glowing steadily. I don't yet know how people "see" these things, but now I understand that the inner light is in everyone. I found mine!
At one time, writing was the only way for my soul to cry, or to be afraid, or even to be happy. So I began to wonder, "What exactly does writing do for me, even now that I'm aware of who I am?" Expression is number one on my list. I'm full of expression. It leaks out each of my pores every time I move with the slightest of breaths. I feel sometimes as if it's a life form within me, continuously expanding and pushing the limits of its bodily confinement, i.e., me. It's a restless spirit, one that cannot be repressed, hampered, or silenced. It wants out. It shouts to be heard, to catch a glimpse of the outside world even if for only a moment in order to find a new source for its many wandering thoughts. At one time it was upset and beat its wings against the bars of its cage. Now it's freeing its friends.
Computers are my life, but writing is my inner core. Even English class failed to extinguish this flame. No, I won't ever stop writing.
~nv
2 Comments:
Hehheh. Works the other way around, too. My guy digs my geekiness. He was quite impressed that I could understand electronics schematics even though I'd never studied electronics. I tried to say "but it's only logical" but he only fell for me more. I admit I like his geekiness, too, though... :)
I'm glad English class failed to put out your inner fire. Feed it. Help it to breathe. And by all means let it out from time to time, as you've been doing, so we get to read what it has to say.
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