Sometimes I find myself filling up,
Like an old forgoten junk drawer.
Spilling over with things left unopened, unwanted.
I yearn for a swift pen and virgin paper,
anything to spill my contents upon.
These things crammed inside my soul
become bent and wrinkled.
Gray with neglect and age.
I fight to grasp them and lay them on the page.
It's true I always try to have some sort of writing device near by. The worst is right before I fall asleep or just as I enter the mists of a hot shower, for some reason the ideas just start pouring in.If I can't find a pen and paper I normally run around chanting whatever idea has formed like a crazy lady until I find some.If I don't get them down on paper they either sink back into the recesses of my mind and wait or they swell and scream and keep my awake at night. Some of my characters demand my attention, they are so ingrained in me, their likes thier fears thier needs that I am compelled to write it all down just to get it out. But lord forbid I lose that scrap of paper because once I write it down its gone forever,as if scrawling it with ink literally pulls the words from my brain for all time.
When I was in the 7th grade we had to read "The Outsiders" by S.E. Hinton. I became very popular with the slackers in class because I'd already read it so many times I could quote the whole first 20 pages by heart, yet I can't remember the first line to anything I've ever written. It's nuts!
I write and I read because I can, because it fills me with a joy that nothing else on earth does, because when they say "reading takes you places" for me that phrase is real. I am there with the characters, I laugh with them, I cry with them. I find in them peices of myself. In the characters I write I hide pieces of people I know as well as pieces of me and I love every minute of it.
Thanks for stopping by. I hope you are enjoying the page so far! Look for Losing Connor a little later this summer! Feel free to drop me a line or a comment!
Like an old forgoten junk drawer.
Spilling over with things left unopened, unwanted.
I yearn for a swift pen and virgin paper,
anything to spill my contents upon.
These things crammed inside my soul
become bent and wrinkled.
Gray with neglect and age.
I fight to grasp them and lay them on the page.
It's true I always try to have some sort of writing device near by. The worst is right before I fall asleep or just as I enter the mists of a hot shower, for some reason the ideas just start pouring in.If I can't find a pen and paper I normally run around chanting whatever idea has formed like a crazy lady until I find some.If I don't get them down on paper they either sink back into the recesses of my mind and wait or they swell and scream and keep my awake at night. Some of my characters demand my attention, they are so ingrained in me, their likes thier fears thier needs that I am compelled to write it all down just to get it out. But lord forbid I lose that scrap of paper because once I write it down its gone forever,as if scrawling it with ink literally pulls the words from my brain for all time.
When I was in the 7th grade we had to read "The Outsiders" by S.E. Hinton. I became very popular with the slackers in class because I'd already read it so many times I could quote the whole first 20 pages by heart, yet I can't remember the first line to anything I've ever written. It's nuts!
I write and I read because I can, because it fills me with a joy that nothing else on earth does, because when they say "reading takes you places" for me that phrase is real. I am there with the characters, I laugh with them, I cry with them. I find in them peices of myself. In the characters I write I hide pieces of people I know as well as pieces of me and I love every minute of it.
Thanks for stopping by. I hope you are enjoying the page so far! Look for Losing Connor a little later this summer! Feel free to drop me a line or a comment!
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