I guess it's about staring the train wreck down, right down to the rail road ties, sifting through smoke, metal and memory. "Bravery is not for the beautiful."

Mostly you will find posts that contain poems, paragraphs or narrative non-fiction in process or my thoughts on my writing adventures and of course there may be the occasional rant.

Sunday, November 11, 2012

Thoughts on writing

I write because I have to, when I write- it becomes bearable, real, alive. When I write, I am no longer choking back the words but finally breathing fire. When I write, I take the knife and go right up the vein, not across- mind you. When I write, I no longer exist. I long, some days, to no longer exist. Words become color and sound, blue warmth and thunder heartbeats. I miss Midwest summers when the thunder would become my heartbeat and the storms would hide my shame. When I write, discomfort becomes my friend, driving the words like a herd of sheep towards the some day greener pastures and the sheep know only to follow. I can only follow the words as they move faster, become larger, make the leap from nightmare to dream and I am still standing when it is all finished. I lean quietly on dangling modifiers, semi-colons, and enjambment, not the sort of thing one wants as a foundation but it is a start. When I write, I am finally breathing, releasing, living. When I write the demons come out of the shadows and take shape, they can be named, I can be free. When I write memories are no longer mine, but some thing else entirely, a moment outside of my secrets, a window into someone else's story, a journey towards something shared. There's a stillness to words, even as they move faster, space to breathe between letters and periods. There is a silence to words that is louder then any other sound that I have ever heard. A silence that can be bold and full of explosions and never uttered aloud. There is safety here,even with a knife to my wrist. It's up the vein- baby-never across.

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