There’s days when I have the urge to keep the words flowing- posts, letters, journaling- words flowing onto pages and screens with no end in sight. It’s almost in a type of panic, not the fear of running out of words to write or ways to make them fit together, like pieces of a puzzle, but fear of running out of time to show you the words that express and bring to life the things inside me, around me, the things I’m made up of.
My fingers type quickly and furiously and I turn page after page, trying with each one to make the ideas, the words come together to form something that you can understand, something that you can relate to, something that will make you feel. Some days it works, some days it’s just a bunch of Half-hearted gibberish, things that only make sense to me, things that only bring me pleasure in imagining, pondering, remembering, but still I try to share them with you.
The thing about being a writer is that the words come when they’re ready, no matter how much you want them there now, they don’t work like that. Not all the time anyways. Not for me anyways. I could sit and type out nonsense for minutes, hours, days, waiting for the words to form something beautiful, but if they’re not ready to be born then they’re just not ready. I’m patient. Days go by when nothing pours from me and once it does, it leaves me exhausted, spent, empty until the next time. I’m okay with this for the most part.
There’s things that bring me more inspiration than others and these are the things I come back to time and time again when I need to feel, well, inspired. Words of truth, truth the way others see it, the owners of these words. Everyone’s truth is different and everyone’s truth is beautiful in their own way. Even when it’s ugly, it’s beautiful.
Reading the truths of others gives me the courage to write of my own. It gives me the strength to begin and continue on until I am finished, until I have purged myself from everything I’ve held in for so long, the things that make it hard for me to concentrate on anything other than how to put my truths into physical words that you can experience, that you can understand. Your words give me courage and inspiration.
There’s days I tell myself my words don’t matter, that they aren’t getting me anywhere, that no one is reading them, that no one understands and on those days, I don’t write. I sulk instead. I sulk and read and drink obscene amounts of coffee. This has been me for several months now. But not today. Today, I am writing. I’m writing my words, I’m writing my truths.
Did you know that I smoke? A nasty habit most would say, most including smokers themselves. I agree but smoking reminds me that I am alive, that I’m making a conscious decision without influence or pressure from anyone else or their views on smoking or the fact that I indulge in it. I get a lot of lectures about how smoking is bad for me and it’s never anything I didn’t already know, I’m gonna smoke regardless. Something that may kill me one day makes me feel so alive today. But I don’t think it will kill me. Not anytime soon anyways.
Today I had an urge to keep the words flowing and to tell you a little bit more about me, things you may not have known before. I think I succeeded, but the urge to create is still there so I’ll continue on. Maybe not right now, maybe not right here, but I’ll be around, thinking of how I’ll put these words down.