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Writing a lost art
(January 5, 2010)

Blog – Writing a lost art (1-5-2010)

I love to write, but it was never a passion of mine. It really wasn’t. Anyone from school could tell you that I would not sit there and write in my free time. I was always the quiet girl and the “sweet” girl. I know. Total shocker huh? But really, in person, I am still much that same person.

In the past few years is when I have really discovered my passion for writing. If I remember correctly, it was only when I was around 12-15 years of age that I actually did start writing. I wrote my first poem when I was 12. It was about feelings. Even threw in some words about homelessness I think. I’m sure I could find it somewhere in the house if I looked hard enough. But when it came to actually writing things for school; I didn’t. No kidding. I was always the kid that received the “explain more” and “??” in red ink or pencil. Telling me that the teachers wanted more information and a better explanation in my stories. Perhaps that is where I learned to add detail when I write? For those teachers I say thank you. From the people that read my work, they also thank you.

Writing has become a passion of mine when I needed it to be. It became an outlet. A way to get out period. A way out of my life. A door out of my world. That’s why I write for people. I love the give and take writing allows. It allows me to give something to read and them to give me their thoughts back. I love to write for people. I’ve written poems when people have requested it. I’ve written books when people have requested them. I simply love to write because it allows you an escape. When you read, you can be anyone, anywhere, or anything. You can fly to the moon and still be home for dinner. When you’re the person that is behind that writing, you can give people a new outlook to their lives, make them laugh, inspire them to do better and so much more. You are the person handing the reader their wings.

The first time that I discovered writing could affect people was when I wrote the aforementioned poem that I wrote. I wrote it half-heartedly and didn’t really put much thought into it, nor did I really even like it that much. It received rave reviews—albeit they could’ve been just trying to make a little girl smile—and people talked about it with others. Okay it was talked about amongst family since that was the year I went to Mississippi with my mother and visited all sorts of family. I was 12.

The next time I discovered writing and really felt within that it could be something to me, and for me, was just a year ago. I was in a place that few would want to be. I was in a bad place. I had been through many things and I needed to figure out a way—on my own—to get better. Some of my friends that I have now know of what I was going through, and why. I had joined MySpace as a way to “reconnect” with people. I thought I could find old friends of mine, meet new friends, and just talk to people. I’d had a severe problem with panic attacks and found it hard as heck to even leave my own bedroom, let alone the house, so that wasn’t really an option in that moment. I had a best friend—of 10 years—that decided she couldn’t support me in the way people are supposed to and her and I gradually grew further apart than ever before. While there, I’d met a person who encouraged me to post my poetry. From there, I began to post things I’d been writing, and even new things. I met a group who did weekly blogs that would be based off a topic. As the group grew though, I slowly quit writing for that as I found it less desirable. I wanted to write for me, not a large group that wrote based on one topic. I could easily do that, but on my own.

Which is how I really found my love of writing. I realized I’d always been writing these bits of stories and it was fun. I focused on the books I wrote and it was then that it occurred to me, that maybe I could actually be the next Stephen King, Dean Koontz, Keri Arthur, etc. It’s only been this past few years that I really put that thought into motion. I’d always written half-heartedly, but had never really thought about it. I am now. I found my passion that has been lying inside; next to all my others of course. I know this because when I write, I become lost in it. Whether it be for something as simple as a blog such as this, or a story. I lose myself and will even forget to eat if I’m not careful. I miss it when I don’t write for long periods. I can go for a long time without talking to people—maybe you have noticed?—but when it comes to writing, I simply can’t seem to stay away. I love to help people through my writing. As I’ve always said. If I can just hit one person with what I write… I have succeeded. That makes me happier than anything else. I write for nothing. Even if I’m not praised, I will write. If I’m in a dingy, cramped, darkened little basement that is damp and stinky, I will enjoy what I write. It’s the words that matter to me, not the place I do it, or why.

I don’t have all the time in the world to focus on my writing either. I get very little time to even sit still before my mom calls and needs me to help her with something; I need to take the dogs outside, feed them or play with them; I need to place my Avon order; and all the rest of the day-to-day duties. So for anyone that wants to write, it’s not as if you need the ideal place to do it, or long periods of sitting still. Yes, I absolutely love the weekends when I get to sit for a few hours and refuse to do anything else but write, but you don’t ever need to perfect settings, or reason to start. Not to mention I cannot sit still for long periods of time as anyone can tell you. You just need to start. Write anything. Write everything. Figure out the music that works with what you’re trying to write, and play it in the background as you write. I have classical playing at this moment; dogs running in and out of the room; birds flying overhead and getting into things; and a cat leaving the room since she can’t sleep. I don’t have the perfect setting when I write. You don’t need it either. If you want out of your head, art is the way to go. Writing is a lost art form. Especially good old-fashioned letters in the mail. Writing with pen and pencil. Do people even know what that is anymore? I’ve a few that I am doing that with, and would never mind doing it with more.

I for one, plan to get back into it. Yes, I am working on my stories and doing all sorts of writing in those few moments of my spare time even still, but I am talking about blogging for people to read something of mine more frequently. I don’t really care if anyone reads it or not. It doesn’t matter whether I have one comment, or a thousand. It’s all the same to me. I write for me, but I write for you as the reader as well. I write because if there is one thing that I have learned these past few years, it’s this: there is a lot going on in this world which is leading us to become very impersonal people who no longer have shame who no longer remember to respect people, and simply just don’t seem to care about all the people on this planet anymore. Writing is a way to bring people together. Art in itself is a way to bring people together. Otherwise, how would I have ever met the great people in my life that live nowhere near me?

I have been through so much in my 29 years already. I have seen many tragedies and much horror. The one constant in life is that it’s changing. One thing in life that remains the same are words. Books will always be there. As long as there is someone there to remember the writing, or someone there, then there will always be someone to write a story, and to read it. Sometimes it is only a matter of who is brave enough to put those words to paper. I read everything I can get my hands on. I look up things to understand them better and study them because I can. Even things that people would never dream of researching, but I want to know what is behind something. The meaning behind it. I want know the why. I don’t have to believe in it, condone it, advocate for it, or anything else to read up on it, or to write about it. You’re going to notice that. I don’t believe in racism, but I can talk about it. I don’t believe in sexism, but I can talk, and read about it. Because what is interesting to me, is the human mind behind it. What makes that person think that way? Why does that person believe it? A lot of the time people believe things just because it’s what they are taught and it’s not because they are a so-called, bad person. I try to write from an unbiased viewpoint. Neither my views, or opinions, will be thrown in a lot of the time. I just love to write things and get your thoughts on it. What do you think about it? I am not afraid to write about anything. I write about everything.

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