To me, writing is an essence that can only be individually understood through a complex understanding of one’s soul. Some people write to relieve stress or tension, or to clear their minds. Some people write because they have to. Others write because they want to. But what really is writing after all? And what is the pleasure and pure beauty that comes with it? Is it the way words suddenly encompass your thoughts and you can do nothing but write? Or is it something more complex than that, such as human nature and life in all of its majesty? I write, but I cannot explain the reason. I have experienced a journey throughout the past few months as a student in a creative writing class. Writing has given me an indescribable courage to illustrate my experiences and feelings with anyone who will listen. The composition of a simple poem is all it takes to compose the most complex of thoughts. Will a specific verse trigger a certain emotion in one individual, and a different emotion in another? I feel as though I have grown tremendously as a writer these past months. I have opened myself up to the world of writing which I once stereotyped as “exaggerated”. But I no longer have this stereotype. Words can inhabit a page effortlessly. But one truly knows they are a writer when their words not only inhabit a page, but also a heart.
Words on a Page
September 27, 2011