Tag: Writing

One tear slid down her cheek as she walked towards the setting sun, the purple and navy shades of dusk settling in around her. What shocked her was not the small ache that settled in around her heart as she thought about the decision she had just made, everything that she had just walked away from, or the life she had just left behind.

What shocked her, was the sense of relief.

Angle

May not have represented hope…

A different angle can change everything.
It can provide a new perspective,
Help gain a fresh understanding.

The purple flowers, from any other side,
Would have just existed.
Would have just been there.

The leaves, if looked at from another direction,
Could have been trampled without a thought,
Could have been bit off by the hungry muzzle nearby.

The sunset, through any other lens,
Might have been missed.
Might not have been appreciated.

The light, if blocked by any thicker foe,
May not have interrupted the shadows.
May not have represented hope.

Cracked

The lightning spat, the thunder growled. Dogs scurried every which way, searching for shelter under anything they could find. Most of the horses cowered into the darkest corners of their stalls, seeking safety, but not him. He was unswerving, storm tested, braver than all. He was his own security. His russet head hung over the stall door, his golden eyes quiet, considerate. The rain dripped down from the cracked gutter, soaking his floppy ears and face. But he didn’t seem to mind. I had to wonder why. Could he hear my thoughts? Was he done, was this the end? Would he ever be the same again? Was that what kept him still? I realized my own face was just as drenched-but not from rain. From the burning, salty tears staining my cheeks, sneaking freely from cracked tear ducts.

Why I Write

One simple moment to shift everything back into perspective, to make you ready for the future, to fight for your dreams.

I realized I wasn’t like the other kids when I was eleven. I was quiet, shy, and stayed out of trouble. I had friends, but I didn’t really fit in. I preferred being by myself. I preferred quiet.
My fifth grade teacher assigned us to write a poem for a contest. She and a few other teachers would read them and select three to be submitted for publication. All the other kids in my class put together short pieces, the minimum length that had been assigned. It was simply homework to them. But not to me. Pages and pages of words and rhymes poured out of me. I had never felt so proud of something I created.
It was in writing my poem that I realized why I preferred the quiet. There were so many stories and characters running around in my brain that the noise and company of others could be deafening. I wanted to be in the world of my creation, where I was in control of everything. My characters said what I wanted them to say, and nothing happened without my permission. Writing helped me understand myself.
My imagination continued to grow as I got older, and writing was something I longed for. But there were some critics that caused me to doubt my passion. There were people who laughed and told me my stories were silly. As time went on, fear clouded my brain, and the stories stopped getting put down on paper. They stayed in my mind, where I could keep them safe and unharmed from the real world, protected from the opinions of others.
Fear kept the words from being written down, but the stories were still there, begging for a way to come out. Begging for a way to be told, to be expressed. I can’t fight them anymore, I have to let them out.
I’ve learned now that people don’t get to control how you see yourself. They don’t get a say in your passions, or in what you pursue. They shouldn’t be able to make you afraid to be yourself. But sometimes, it happens, even if it shouldn’t. Sometimes you’re afraid and you forget how to be yourself. And all it takes to bring you back is one simple moment. One simple moment to shift everything back into perspective, to make you ready for the future, to fight for your dreams.
I want to learn everything I can about how to be a good writer, so I can use the gift God has given me and let my stories see the light of day. I want to fight the fear and win. I want my true self to shine through my words. My characters deserve to have a voice and to be heard, and I want access to every tool I can get my hands on in order for that to happen. I don’t want to be afraid; I want to be a writer