I have a need to write. At any given moment, there are hundreds of words bouncing around my brain. Dozens of stories clamor to the front, begging to be told. So whenever I have a spare moment, or when my work gets too boring, I pull out a blank sheet of paper, pick a non-black pen, and write.
Sometimes what comes out weighs a ton. It’s as if I’ve been hoarding every emotion I’ve ever felt. The words tumble out of my pen, nothing strong enough to slow them down.
Sometimes what comes out is light and airy. The words flutter like butterflies, painting pictures as beautiful as their wings. The ideas seem simple at first, but upon closer examination, the intricacies reveal themselves. If you know me well and you read one of these, you’ll be able to understand what it is I’m really saying.
Occasionally I’ll write a poem, and other times it’s a straightforward life update. Honestly, it doesn’t matter. I’m just happy to be writing. I love that feeling I get when I craft a particularly good sentence. I live for turning my feelings into black and white pictures. I get a jolt of pleasure whenever I start a new journal. Writing is my favorite thing to do–I want to get better at it.
And so, for these reasons and countless more, I’ve decided I’m going to write a book. It might be a memoir (I just registered for a memoir writing class), maybe a collection of essays, or short stories. Whatever it turns out to be, I know I’ll love creating it. Writing is the only thing for which my love has never wavered.
I’m excited to fall even more in love with it. Wish me luck!
P.S. This is a fitting 100th post, wouldn’t ya say? 😀