Writing is a way of Life
I hear the annoying buzz of the alarm, waking me from my wonderful sleep. I pull myself from beneath the warmth of my comforter. I get dressed, wash my face, brush my teeth and comb my hair. Then I go to the kitchen to make myself something quick to eat. Every day it’s the same old story.
Or is it?
When I go outside every sound I hear, every voice and every wonderful face I encounter, is something magnificent just waiting to be explored. The people I meet are not just nameless faces. They are the light shining down, teaching me things that printed words cannot. I am a writer. I am a sponge.
A writer doesn’t just dream of far off places that can take you on an enchanted ride. A writer must see beyond the dream. Take that ordinary cup of coffee you drink every morning and smell it’s rich flavor. Close your eyes and savor in the delectable aroma that lingers on the tip of your tongue. You will be transported through the jungles of Columbia. You won’t even need a passport for the ride.
Writing isn’t just putting words down on paper. It’s more than just describing something visually. It’s creating life. Perhaps not in the literal sense, but nonetheless, creation does take form. Take that ordinary oak rocking chair that you see sitting in your grandmother’s house. Gaze at its hard wooden structure, as it stands firm with pride. Run your hands across the smooth finished lumber and feel the grain of wood beneath your fingertips. You will almost smell the sawdust bouncing off the blade that crafted it. Every sculpted spindle curved so delicately, that it resonates with love. But it’s just a chair, isn’t it? Or is it?
The art of the writing is seeing beyond what is right in front of you. Pushing the limits of what appears to be ordinary. Finding out something unique that is just waiting to be discovered is what writing is about. It’s more than just fabricating stories conjured up by creative minds. It’s a world without limits, boundaries or expectations. It’s a world where fascination holds no fear, and more than just a simple art form to be enjoyed or shared.
It’s responsive, giving us the truth behind the things we tell ourselves we do not see, to feel the emotions we have convinced ourselves that we do not feel. It’s reality in its harshest form, and it can be as cruel or as wanton as we wish. It’s intoxicating the way it captivates us in our weakest moments, giving strength, power, redemption, glory and the will to go beyond the scales of common morality. It can be our salvation. It isn’t just tale telling or describing something, such as an old windmill, or a magical creature. It more than just speaks the truth about an incident, and goes beyond the boundaries of imagination.
From the moment your eyes close, taking you on a journey to dark corners that are filled with creative lightening. To the deep breath you take in the early morning when you rise, a writer knows. They can sense it with every stroke their fingers engage upon the keyboard, and every idea that’s nestled quietly inside their mind. It’s a hunger that craves anticipation to go beyond the realm of impossibility that makes living more than just living.
Writing is a way of life.
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