I absolutely love reading and since being a small child can be transported by a good writer. I was the child who became a character in ‘The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe’ (yes I was Lucy) and the heroine in many a Jane Austen novel, being swept away by the handsome man. I admire people who can write; novels, poets, copy for articles or advertising or brochures – those who love playing with words, their eloquence and their ability to create a picture you can step into and live there for a while.
I am no novelist and I am no copywriter but that doesn’t stop me transferring my thoughts onto paper (well at this time of day my iPad screen) and it shouldn’t stop you. I write my journal, I write these blogs and I have been known to write letters to my loved ones when that was in fashion. I love words, I love the expression you can give, I love the emotion you can create and I love the storytelling. I’m no good at fantasy and creating the next Harry Potter series and writing factual wouldn’t excite me. I write my reality. I write how I feel. I write what I know. If someone resonates and it helps or makes them question or gives comfort then my job is done.
I love words. I love painting a picture with words as Van Gogh used his oils and I want someone to be able to step inside my writing and live there a while, see what feels right, see what’s uncomfortable, what they can manage, what they can take away. The latter being most important, taking something away from writing is absolutely essential. If you don’t read and take away then the author has, in my eyes, failed to capture you, failed in their message. Maybe I’m being harsh, maybe the message just wasn’t for you.
Picture this… You’re in a dark forest, it’s cold, the sun is out there but you simply cannot see it for the huge, thick canopy of leaves overhead. You have not eaten and you are thirsty. You are alone and aware that out there is someone you love deeply and if you don’t find them (you may not realise it but that person is you) you won’t ever be at peace with yourself. Searching, searching, aimlessly going this way and that. Your heart pumping hard and the stress rising as your breath becomes faster, more laboured as panic sets in. You can see no way of escaping this dark prison that surrounds you and you give in. You slump against a tree, the floor is damp, you are cold, you are scared and you feel a total failure. You are empty with the loss of something that could have been beatingin your heart. In the distance a voice, very faint but there just the same. You focus, you concentrate, you dare to dream this is your time to be free. You have a choice. Dismiss it as your imagination or follow the voice. What’s it to be?
That maybe where you feel you are every day. I am the voice. Doubt yourself or follow me? Choices…