It’s been more than a year since my last post; and I’m truly ashamed of that. It says on my wrist, “I’d rather write than speak,” but I haven’t been putting pen to paper much that often. However, here I am just more than a year later in flight to Phoenix writing to you again. I never take the time to do what I love.
Growing up, I wrote before I could. I made up stories on paper, retold my dreams and jotted down memories. All my life I’ve leaned on the power of the word to get me through. Whether times have been happy or sad, I’ve found comfort in the genuine attachment to the written word.
I don’t do it much now, but I prefer writing in pencil. It’s something about the feel of graphite on paper. But pencil smears, it smudges and disappears over time. And now, it’s so much easier to open a laptop than track down my notebook. Still, I wish I wrote in it more.
It seems kind of worthless, doesn’t it – writing for the first time in more than 365 days about the idea of writing. Is it that I have nothing to say? No, we all know that’s not true. I do think there’s something to be said about the accessibility to writing online. I’ve never written for others, only myself.
Better to write for yourself and no have no public, thank to write for the public and have no self. – Cyril Connolly
So while I want to write and share my thoughts, opinions, emotions and feelings with the World Wide Web, I’m also terrified to do so. Scared to be judged, worried I’ll be misunderstood. Yet still I don’t put pencil to paper and write for myself.
As scary as it may be, I do like to share my writing with others. In college, we had writing workshops where we’d share our stories, poetry and samples with others. The feedback was thoughtful, never hurtful and inspiring. I took to creative assignments without fear, and often surprised even myself with the end result.
Maybe it’s just that I had more to say at 20, or maybe it’s time to open those old workshop assignments to get the words flowing again.