Tuesday, May 1, 2007


Writing is a looking glass staring candidly into the very core of your being. It can lie, it can cheat but in the end these words aren't said in vein, they are spilt out with emotion. They tell tales of high fantasy, horrible reality, love and even comedy. This and everything between. More than that, though, writing is a journey of understanding, a growing realization of who and what you are. For some words come like the tide, for others a constant patter of rain, but for me words are like a seasonal flood. They satisfy the thirst of a parched dessert that blooms instantly, then is gone as quickly as it came. But, before thoughts batter their way out of my scull and make good their escape. They have found their way into the ink and onto the page. For those precious few moments I have what I have always sought. This voice. Mine. Mine to wield and control as I see fit. A wild beast that, for the moment, is domesticated. We all seek control of it, but few of us truly find our voice. When you do, take the time to listen. It will reward you handsomely.