I decided to be a little lyrical with this one. Sorry I’m posting it late, but with work, moving and a bout of poison ivy I’ve been going a little crazy lately.. Anyway, here’s my post.
Writing is hard, I say in passing, as if talking about something
not that important to me, really.
Writing is something I feel slightly ashamed of and when I ask why I realize that – like many – as a child writing was another escape, another way of doing something other, something more
My fantasy world must not be talked about. My fantasy world must not be known.
So maybe that’s why, a little at a time, like the turtle peeping its yellow-veined green head slowly, methodically out of its shell, I speak with my tongue tasting the air all the while, sharing
Little thoughts, words, ideas,
not that much really.
Do you ever wonder how to resonate….
how two people can somehow share the same idea, the same thoughts?
How can the private be so shared and how can the shared be so private?
Writing is hard, like a turtle shell, like stubbornly choosing to be brave, to not always play it safe, while knowing at the same time you’re concealing all those things you’re revealing, all those things that can never quite be shared, no matter how hard you try, no matter how much you want to. Because they’re yours. Inside.
If any of what I’ve said makes any sense – And God Knows Sometimes I Wonder – then maybe you can understand why I say: writing is hard.