I used to think I was a writer. I told myself I was because I wrote lots of journals when I was younger and tons of essays for college, threw down an occasional poem, wrote some cards and letters…but that was a lie.
BUT, you’re not a writer until you are engulfed in a world you can’t possibly have until you think eat and breathe writing…when you ache to get the beasts out of you…until you wrangle with demons and journey and blockades you know nothing about and you begin to conquer them. that is when you begin to be a writer.
A writer is a witness to life and beauty and heartache and a gamut of emotions.
A writer is tortured with a myriad of emotions that HAVE to get out.
A writer experiences the desert…a time when the life of words does not exist and the land all around is barren.
I imagine that even now going through what I have this past year with my writing , one might still say I am not a writer…but I am beginning to understand the world of writing. I am ready to be a witness to testify to the beauty and lessons learned…and to experience the greatest heartache when the words don’t come…to know that even one word has healed.
TELL ME: What have you witnessed? What are YOU writing? I’d love to know your adventures.