writing

It is good to have this thing called writing.  Because of reading Writing Down the Bones, I am feeling free to just write- about anything, anytime, anywhere.  My journal is like my companion, and I even take it to work each day just in case I want to write or in case something happens worth writing about.  Just glancing down at my workbag and seeing it gives me comfort, as if a piece of me were right there, ready to spring into action at any moment.

Writing is wonderful because you need minimal supplies, no electricity, and there is no limit as to where it can be done.  I like that it can fill a few minutes or an hour.  It’s a great thing to do while you’re waiting for other things to get done.

So far in my journal  I’m recording thoughts and feelings and daily stuff without the express purpose of writing towards any end but apparently, according to Natalie (my new bff via paperback) that’s ok.  As I’ve said before - or was it Nat? (that’s what I call her now) - it all counts.  It’s all part of finding my voice.

I’ve heard it said, “If you don’t normally speak that way, please don’t write that way.”  So you can be sure I won’t be filling this blog with a rambling of words like nevermore and wherewithal and posthaste.  Don’t write words you yourself wouldn’t use, because then your writing definitely won’t sound like you.

When there’s nothing else to do - I can write.
When I’m bored - I can write.
When I want to eat- I can write.
When I’m happy, sad, or stressed- I can write.
When I have 5 minutes or 5 hours- I can write.
When I have only a piece of scrap paper and a pen - I can still write.

Writing is so universal, so commonly accepted, so available to everyone, I’m wondering why more people don’t do it. 

And if you don’t do it - maybe today’s the day to start.