A Writer, I Am.

November 19, 2010
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Most people have hobbies. I don’t.
Some people play sports. I don’t
Others join clubs. I don’t.
Then there are a few who write. Those who understand how to take the waterfall of hardships that life gives and turn them into words. Like solving for X in algebra, eliminating everything you don’t need only to get the most important aspect.
I do. I write. A writer I am.

That feeling the sports star gets when they win the game, or the excitement of club members when they do something new. This is the feeling I have when I write. The feeling when you know everything will be ok. To know you did something all your own. Something original. Something “you”
A sense of accomplishment. Individuality.

Athletes join sports because they can play.
Club members join because its what they like.
I write because I must. Must write.
I must write, if want things said. To be heard. Because if I speak yet go unheard it is as useless as a box of apples and screwdrivers. Words are the key to the diary of the heart. Were you can say what others mite never have suspected. When I write I do not plan my words. As if I were a song on repeat. restricted to those limits and nothing more. No. My pencil becomes a feather in the wind. No strings to keep it down. It is free flowing. Like that of the petals you blow from the summers dandelions. Free to flow the direction it wishes. Swirling and twisting like that of pre-schoolers drawings. My pencil is no longer inanimate. No. it is defiantly alive. It becomes a thing all its own-able to stop and start at any time it wishes.

People play sports when games are scheduled.
You attend clubs when the date is set.
I write when I want. I am not a slave to a planned agenda. I write when I hurt. When I'm happy. Or when I'm sad. I am like a traveler around the world. I go were I like. Stay were I want. And stop if I please. To be free and write what you want it to have the summers breeze flow through your hair. It's the ocean waves crashing on the shore. The wind does not ask to blow through your hair. Nor does the ocean to crash into the grains of sand. It just does. Because it wants to. Because it can. Not because its told to.

I don’t play sports.
I don’t join clubs.
I write.
I am, a writer.

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