At one point or another, it happened. Whether it was at Ms. Callahan's class sophomore year in high school , or as I filled one of many notebooks, with thoughts and observations - it happened. I became a writer. Now, that does not mean I am going to write a book or anything like that. I know myself well enough to know, that I lack the discipline to write a novel; to weave a storyline together, intricate and involving.
I belong here; where I can write whatever comes to mind. Where I can flow freely, in this so called ocean of thought. Hell, I just let the fingers do the typing. I merely sit here and let them guide me along. Words come across in a flash, type this, type that. I am no longer in control, and that's how I like it. It should always be effortless. Not a whole lot of thinking or intellectual conversation. Hemingway one said, "All you have to do is write one true sentence. Write the truest sentence that you know." Everything after that, is gravy. Writers are victims to their own admiration; they emulate their favorite writers, without knowing it.
It's so much simpler to just...let the fingers do the talking. Come... and talk to me.
idk, I think you could write a book if you ever decided you wanted to...
ReplyDelete