LIVING THE LIFE OF AN ARTIST

I Could Write Forever

The colors of autumn reached the hollow where I live. Leaves that see less sun are turning bright yellow while those trees across the road that get more sun have leaves of vibrant red. I love the crispness of the days and the aromas wafting on the breezes. The brook babbles its song and a flock of over 20 grackles gather at the water’s edge.

Inside I go through boxes of files in an effort to reorganize. I’m down to the last box – writings. Here are various folders, years full of poems, stories, and other writings. I found a couple stories written in the 70s and one with markings from a high school teacher. 

How can I keep everything? How do I decide which to save?

Some writings move to the trash bag with reluctance while others are put aside. Some of the writings are inspiring. Some stir a yearning to dive back into the depths of whatever subject is on the pages. I could write forever. I could expand on topics as some of the emotions laid bare on those papers still carry to today.

I am reminded of the hours spent delving into those emotions – emotions which I find fascinating. The mind is amazing and I learn a lot from the ability at putting my feelings into words. There’s something about seeing the experience in words (even when I struggle to find the right words to convey those emotion… which is like a treasure hunt). The written words take understanding of the situation to another level. I learn my truth. I accept who I am.

What do I do with these old writings? They tell the story of who I was, but also lay the path to who I am today. How can I just throw them away? There’s a history here. There’s a book to be developed from all of this. 

I study emotion. I study my reactions to emotions, to feelings, to circumstances. I know, as I experience this journey of life, I am not alone. But how do I talk about this journey of sentiment? How do I make this life-travel one filled with excitement when I am crashing? How do I create joy from despair? And I do.

Writing makes my soul dance with joy. I climb mountains. I fly. I sing at the top of my lungs. Writing picks me up when I crash. It saves me from being lonely and heals me when my heart breaks. 

So, what do I do with my old writings? There is much more story and poems to tell. The new weaves from the old and becomes new again. It’s exciting. I wish these feelings of joy for everyone… and yet, I understand not everyone can understand… and that becomes more fuel for the writing fire. Let the flames fan high. My writing has been too quiet of late.

But right now I have to finish going through those old files of writings. How do I organize them?

(And don’t say organize them to the round file, ha ha.)