Writing

It’s not hard to do, really.  Put pen to paper or fingers to keyboard and just do.  I don’t know why I’ve just not done it.  For years I’ve had the compulsion to buy journals of all shapes and sizes.  They thin, thick, spiral bound and not, some with pretty covers, some just utilitarian.  I’ve stacks of ’em.  Every now and again I pull one out and write a line  or page or three, then put it back down.  Again, don’t know why.    Then, I read A Three Dog Life by Abigail Thomas.  I didn’t particularly like the book for a number of reasons.  However, I did like page 149.  I ripped it out and have hung on to it (guess where I shoved it?  Yup-a journal.)

“I had always wanted to write but thought that you needed a degree, or membership in a club nobody had asked me to join.  I thought God had to touch you on the forehead, I thought you needed to have something specific to say, something important, and I thought you needed all that laid out from the git-go.  It was a long time before I realized that you don’t have to start right, you just have to start.  Put pen to paper, allow yourself the freedom to write badly, to get it wrong, stop looking over you own shoulder.”

I’ve taken that bit of her paragraph as a sort of ‘call to arms’.  In this case, it’s a call to pen/cil and keyboard.  I’ve got something to say but I may not always know it until it’s out there.   There you have it.  I’m not all that creative with words. I love reading what others have written (generally), like finding them in puzzles, love my ‘Word of the Day’, but I’m not one to paint a picture with them.  So what I’ll write is real for me or about the real of others.  It may not be specific, laid out right or important but I feel I’m being driven to and so, well, here we go!

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