I think about writing all the time. When I am running, when I am swimming, when I am lifting weights. When I am cooking, when I am eating. When I am driving, when I am walking. Every waking moment, and some sleeping ones too, I am thinking about writing. I am running words and phrases through my head. I am trying to feel how the sentence will look on the page, how the syllables will sound, how the pictures will be formed.
And yet my pen (in all honesty my keyboard) is silent.
There have been so many moments this past year that I have longed to share.
I have lost many things, many people, over the course of 2008, and I have wanted to use language to make those losses tangible, to explain what and how and why I have lost.
I have gained many things, many people, over the course of 2008 and I have wanted to use language to celebrate those joys, to echo my laughter, to explain what and how and why I have loved.
But every time I have sat at this computer I have been filled with self doubt and self pity and self loathing and I have stopped myself. I have been scared of who might be reading and who might not be reading. I have been unsure of what I wanted to share, of what would be better kept private, of what might be misunderstood.
I have let my voice be silent.
1 comment:
I know how you feel and I have also been amiss in my writing and in so many other things.
I am reading and I dont know if that makes things feel more silent and awkward (if so, I will stop if you'd llike) or if the idea of having a reader who likes to hear the joys and celebrations and who wants to be there to share the burden of your sorrows, makes you feel more compfrtable. I am hoping it is the latter because I would feel that way if I knew who read my words.
Much love,
Chris
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