I have wondered for a while now, why haven't I written anything. I know I should, but, life has gotten in the way and I can't seem to motivate myself around it.
It is a fact, I love words and I love the process of writing...there is something sacred about the time I spend putting down those precious words. I can't really explain it...the process just makes me more complete. Honestly, I become a nicer person when I write.
The art of writing is like a soothing blanket to my soul and I can feel the words dance around me and through me...often it is as if I am another person. So, why do I put off this wonderfully enriching experience? Why do I wait until I am filled with stress before I write? I don't know, but I really should give into my creativity more often than I do.
Writing is the life of me...it is my identity. So many times I have discovered hidden secrets about myself through what I write. Not deliberately, mind you, but because my heart is in it...my passion. Often, I will read back through a piece and think..."God, how enlightening".
There is a vulnerability to this art, and I believe, I have to be true to that honesty before my work can become real.
As writers, we have been given a gift I think. A gift of discovery and observation...the ability to see through reality, what is and isn't real, and document it in our own words. This has to mean something...if not for ourselves then for somebody else.
I hope I can find my way back to the disciplined side of me and give the time needed to write and mean it. You know, it isn't enough for me to jot down a few words...I have to give this art the time it deserves...the time I need if I am to become truly happy once more. It just feels good to let the words flow...as I find myself lost in the joy of writing.
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