This will not be my "usual" #rhymed poetry.
This is mainly a random musing about a writer's #thrill.... or, at least, THIS writers thrill.)
What is it about a blank page in a book, a journal, that is so enticing and stressful?
I find joy in the feel of a pen in my hand, as I write out the things that come to #mind on the page before me.
Every #notebook and/or #journal I've ever been honored to own has given me a sense of #excitement, and anxiety, and honestly I hope that it never stops being this way.
Don't get me wrong, I love #digital, and thank heavens for it.....
But the feelings I associate with the physical presence of pen and paper....
It's nothing short of #magical.
When I have them, I feel like I'm filled to the brim with words scrambling to get out and onto the paper before me, yet I feel a great sense of importance, especially with that first page; that first line matters more than I can convey.
I started writing stories, and poems, when I was very VERY young, around 5 years old, I do #believe.
I was always #imagining things, and when I #discovered that I had a "gift" to spread my #imagination on to a visible level?
I was both #overjoyed and #horrified.
I'm basically the youngest of 7 children (believe me, that whole thing is a story so.... unbelievable that not even someone like me could concoct its premises.... so I'll stick with the basics for this enlightenment), my siblings range (in years) from 22 (and a half), 22, 21, 16, and 12 years older than me.
My mother and father weren't exactly "planning" for their parenting-hood THIS time around.
In fact, I wasn't supposed to be here at all.
I have a niece that's exactly 9 days older than me, and a nephew that's a few weeks over a year older than me.
I even have two great-nephews (1 of whom I've never met... again, a whole different story for, if you're #lucky, a never-time).
So, despite having a large #family, I spent the majority of my time #alone.
Save for my dear sainted #mother.
She passed in 2014, and she was my #salvation in this hell I call a life.
She.... she was, and pretty much still is, my everything.
(Needless to say at this point, but I have more stories, truth nonetheless, than most bookshelves can accommodate comfortably)
My #apologies, for I #digress.
But my time was comprised of #imagination and a hunger to #learn and #explore.
I quickly #discovered that my views, traits, and way of thinking were not common for my surroundings... a massive understatement.
But the one place I could "tell-all" and NOT be judged?
A blank piece of paper.
Words were my best friends, and the more I delved into them, and explored their meanings and wonder, the more our friendship grew, and the one place I could have an all day play date with them was on paper.
My love for pens (vs. pencils) grew quite rapidly, as well, though I suspect it was due to a deep rooted #rebellion for not being allowed pens when I was younger..... you take a bright red pen to the bathroom walls ONE time as a toddler and you're branded for life.
My need to #express myself via paper and pen (when I was again allowed to have pens, that is) grew to the point that, any time I went to the store, I HAD to get a notebook/journal/diary (yes, even the ones with the useless little lock and keys) and pens/pencils/markers (what? I liked to change it up at times)... Even foregoing toys when given a #choice of "either/or".
That feeling hasn't subsided, and neither has my #love for writing.
Am I good?
I can't say.
I wouldn't like to be the #judge of that, anyways.
I just love giving light to the stories and #poems inside of my #mind, because my mind is no place for harboring an #untold story.
I don't know that I'm good, or that anyone would ever like/love, or fully #understand my words; but they're all I have, and I can't stop writing.
To not write has never been an option for me, nor is it one I ever want to have.
Someone once asked me what would happen if one day I woke up and I couldn't write anymore.
My answer was quick, sincere, and as #honest and real as I could have ever been in my life.
I said, " I would #die."
I was told that's a bit dramatic, but I still stand by the fact that it's the #truth.
Without my #words, I would cease to be.
What is all this #worth?
Well, if you've read this far, I'm #hoping it was worth at least your time.
#writing #writer #magic #random #poem #poetry #stories #personal #musing #gift #time #write #paper #journal #penandpaper #life #meaning