The ‘Write’ Choice
I am a boring person; these words have crossed my path many times over the years. Is it because I choose not to participate in extreme sports, or that I would prefer to sit at home and watch a good movie rather than run off to an amusement park?
Am I boring because I want to play it safe at times instead of putting myself in unnecessarily dangerous situations? No. I am boring because I am choosing to pursue a career that is not going to have me delving into the darkest trenches of the Earth, or chasing the bad guys from pillar to post; I choose to study English-I want to be a writer.
There have been times in my life when I wished I had the aptitude to comprehend a math or science class, but, I am just not wired that way; I do not function well with ‘cut and dry’ solutions, but more so on opinion and analysis, because it is hard to accept that a situation only has one right or one wrong answer. Poetry and fictional stories are fascinating because the meaning behind what has been written can be left up to the way each individual reader interprets what they have read.
Imagine yourself on an island-the warm, taupe sand softly underfoot, radiant sunlight beaming on your beaded brow, and the soothing sounds of the clear blue water gently breaking on the beach. You come upon a lone coral-colored conch shell which seems to have been methodically placed within your sight, as if it were waiting patiently, just for you; gingerly, you pick it up and place it to your ear, listening to the quaint sounds of the ocean, which is so close, yet sounds so far away… My hopes are that the words I put on paper will allow individuals to travel with their mind’s eye, indulging in excitement and intrigue, without having to leave the comfort of their homes.
Writing is therapeutic. When my beloved dog Candy passed away in February, I felt a pain in my heart that I had never experienced before. After several days of what seemed like non-stop crying, I had an exceptionally strong urge within my soul to express my grief through a few poems. The ideas of what to jot down were running through my head faster than my fingers could type, but when I was done, I felt a sense of peace. Putting my pain into words has enabled my heart to slowly heal. It is amazing to me how difficult it was to verbally articulate my sorrow, but, how naturally my thoughts came together on paper.
As I try to ponder a nifty conclusion to my humdrum little story, I have but one thought that has continually crossed my mind this evening: Kudos to all of the drab writers in the world-you know, those uninteresting souls who sit at home putting mundane thoughts into words, turning those words into books which become best sellers and then award-winning movies, viewed by the millions of outgoing, adventure seeking individuals who have too much going on in their lives to ever consider themselves boring.