What no spouse of a writer can ever understand is that a writer is working when he's staring out of the window.
~Burton RascoeThere is this folder in my closet. You know, the old peechee folder from the 80s. I think it's actually taped together now. Inside the folder are a variety of papers - napkins, scratch papers, pieces of envelopes, ripped out spiral notebook pages, receipts. All of them with yellowed and tattered scribblings of my mind, beginning from maybe 25 years ago. Constant writing was not a regular routine for me but when something would pop up in my mind, I'd write it down and file it away in the folder.
A little over a year ago my sister started her blog - Midnight Marvel. Instantly I became hooked, daily checking to see if a new post was up yet, laughing, crying and relating to her stories. Even though we've shared a lifetime of experiences, it was a glimpse into her heart, mind and daily life, something that brought me closer to her soul. Soon I was itching to write. She kept telling me to start a blog and I resisted, for a while. My writings have always been personal and rarely shared. They acted as more of an outlet, letting loose thoughts and feelings swirling around in my head. If I were to make those public, I would be baring my innermost soul and for all it's worth, my true and crazy self. Then I realized that I am who I am. Hiding the real me has never been my forte. People already have had a pretty good picture of what's in my heart, whether they like it or not. So that is how it all began. A year ago, on January 25, I wrote my first blog post and the rest is history. I've never felt more alive. There is a freedom in opening yourself up and putting your thoughts into words, words that you can re-read over and over, reliving each moment. My writings are rainbows of raw emotion. Real, live and boldly not censored for readers' discretion.
The ability to write, getting the thoughts onto paper, is most always mentored by someone who sees your talent. In my case, that was my mother. An english teacher who insisted that you don't start each sentence with an "I", leave out the word 'very', and most importantly "Don't tell me the moon is shining; show me the glint of light on broken glass" (Anton Chekhov). She nurtured my creativity and encouraged my individuality. She hates when I put in the wrong punctuation or misspell something, but she also understands that sometimes that is my way of getting a point across. As a writer, you want the reader to know you. You must fully capture them in your moment of time.
When I write, my soul renews itself and clears my mind of clutter. That in and of itself is essential to my spiritual well-being, which is of utmost importance to me. Today is not the end of a year of writing, it is the beginning of regaining my equilibrium. I live in two worlds, both very real, one that is seen by all and one that cannot be seen with regular eyes. And now instead of being torn between them and feeling the need to choose one, my writing has firmly rooted me in both, and I am nourished and thriving for the first time in a long long time.