At one with the night and it’s magic,
creative to the extremes,
epiphanies and ideas flow like running water,
expressing all my inner thoughts and dreams
I’m going to share with you the words of the author Terry Tempest Williams on why does she write, I think we can all relate to her beautiful words.
I write to make peace with the things I cannot control. I write to create red in a world that often appears black and white. I write to discover. I write to uncover. I write to meet my ghosts. I write to begin a dialogue. I write to imagine things differently and in imagining things differently perhaps the world will change. I write to honor beauty. I write to correspond with my friends. I write as a daily act of improvisation. I write because it creates my composure. I write against power and for democracy. I write myself out of my nightmares and into my dreams. I write in a solitude born out of community. I write to the questions that shatter my sleep. I write to the answers that keep me complacent. I write to remember. I write to forget….
I write because I believe in words. I write because I do not believe in words. I write because it is a dance with paradox. I write because you can play on the page like a child left alone in sand. I write because it belongs to the force of the moon: high tide, low tide. I write because it is the way I take long walks. I write as a bow to wilderness. I write because I believe it can create a path in darkness….
I write as ritual. I write because I am not employable. I write out of my inconsistencies. I write because then I do not have to speak. I write with the colors of memory. I write as a witness to what I have seen. I write as a witness to what I imagine….
I write because it is dangerous, a bloody risk, like love, to form the words, to say the words, to touch the source, to be touched, to reveal how vulnerable we are, how transient we are. I write as though I am whispering in the ear of the one I love.
Terry Tempest Williams ©
To my readers, I wonder if you’re like me; you sit alone at night fascinated by the darkness, that’s the exact moment where my mind begins to spread its wings like an owl searching for heartbeats and eyes stirring with provocative ideas attractive as an action of flesh that ends in wakefulness. My fingers play beautiful music with my pen. Writing has helped me to make sense in this fanatic world. There are days when I don’t know what to write, and I have to admit that there is so much to learn about writing. I’m not afraid of criticisms. I’m my own worst critic, trust me. Sometimes there is a thick cloud of confusion swarming around my mind and I can’t find the right words to write. Then negative thoughts will start whispering in my ears things like: “this is not good enough” “this is not the appropriate word” “this is not creative enough, it looks boring”, etc and I just sit staring at a blank with million questions roaming inside my mind on which is the best way to start writing this particular piece? Recently, I come to a conclusion that it is fear that is holding me back; I’m learning to start believing in myself and in my work. My advice for you is to start to give yourself some credit, don’t stop writing (there are no limitations or rules when it comes to writing), and push away all your negative feelings.
Dear readers, I just want you to read me from the pages of your hearts.