I was never really a great writer... or even now for that matter. In fact, the only reason I have a stack of journals that comes up to my hip is only because I had to get words out of my head... to understand myself better... I never could write for someone else... in the sense that I was writing something so profound that would somehow better someones life...
The Problem with me and writing is that I can't really express myself with the capacity of other writers out there (CS Lewis, my brothers, Gibran, alliedearest)... I guess its ok for you, the reader, to think, "eh, it's not a problem, just write man. Keep doin it." But the truth is, I've always wanted to express and paint with words that would just blow the lid right off your head- REALLY! I've always wanted to have the words that would change something so much that people would litterally quote me in books...
But I can't.
This isn't my talent... Thats fine. I'm still self conscious. There. I said it. I'm self conscious about my writing... I won't stop though. No sir. I will continue til there are stacks of journals, pads, 3x5 jotters, and random napkins to make a whole new library in my apartment... Living alone has really opened my eyes to things around me. I'm a bit more in tune with my thoughts then I used to be. I college I was a space head. "Houston to Greg." My mind drifts still... even now.
I get lost in thoughts. Bits of random thoughts leading to other thoughts, leading to another fantasy life that I never had but exists only in the emotions brought afterward. But I can't paint with words... Music yes. Words? Not so much. So I continued with music. Music is great. Music is another story for another day. Another struggle. Is this complaining (I'm shaking my head up and down...yep) But I still like words...I like playing with them. (puzzles, codes, meanings, anagrams, etc...) I like sending friends little bits of thoughts on cards.
eh...
I write. simply. because.
I write to seek Him. To find myself. To Let myself go. To see my feelings on something tangible because sometimes I don't let my emotions go the way they should. I hold them. I bury them. I dig a giant hole that can hide 26 years of emotions.
I'm ok though. Trust me. God has me. He knows.
The Problem with me and writing is that I can't really express myself with the capacity of other writers out there (CS Lewis, my brothers, Gibran, alliedearest)... I guess its ok for you, the reader, to think, "eh, it's not a problem, just write man. Keep doin it." But the truth is, I've always wanted to express and paint with words that would just blow the lid right off your head- REALLY! I've always wanted to have the words that would change something so much that people would litterally quote me in books...
But I can't.
This isn't my talent... Thats fine. I'm still self conscious. There. I said it. I'm self conscious about my writing... I won't stop though. No sir. I will continue til there are stacks of journals, pads, 3x5 jotters, and random napkins to make a whole new library in my apartment... Living alone has really opened my eyes to things around me. I'm a bit more in tune with my thoughts then I used to be. I college I was a space head. "Houston to Greg." My mind drifts still... even now.
I get lost in thoughts. Bits of random thoughts leading to other thoughts, leading to another fantasy life that I never had but exists only in the emotions brought afterward. But I can't paint with words... Music yes. Words? Not so much. So I continued with music. Music is great. Music is another story for another day. Another struggle. Is this complaining (I'm shaking my head up and down...yep) But I still like words...I like playing with them. (puzzles, codes, meanings, anagrams, etc...) I like sending friends little bits of thoughts on cards.
eh...
I write. simply. because.
I write to seek Him. To find myself. To Let myself go. To see my feelings on something tangible because sometimes I don't let my emotions go the way they should. I hold them. I bury them. I dig a giant hole that can hide 26 years of emotions.
I'm ok though. Trust me. God has me. He knows.
If words are communication. And with communication comes understanding. Understanding becomes wisdom...and if God IS the Word... Then words come from God. Communication comes from God. and so on.
Geeze now I'm blabbing.
I guess I'll keep writing. Perhaps my grandchildren will find my journals one day and see what Papa was thinking in his heyday. Perhaps they'll see his heart and desires... What will they see when they pick up one of my datebooks? (yes I still keep my planners, just in case I want to know what I was doing April 7 2004 at 6:23p) Perhaps they will ask their parents what I was like and what kind of adventures I had.
Who knows...maybe my audience is not the present at all....
Maybe its a future audience...
I've fancied the thought of writing a book one day. Of what, I don't know... Just a book.
Perhaps.
[+] greg
1 comment:
I so appreciate the props, thank you so much. I don't think that you would stumble much in an introduction, mostly because I'm more at ease in person than on the blog.
You'd be maybe just a little amused that I'm no big deal.
No, but really-I appreciate your words. And most of what I write is complete junk when I compare it to some of my friends' stuff. And yet I continue on, knowing that I must say what is on my heart in order to be honest and grow. I hope it's the same with you.
Grace and peace,
Allie
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