Write On, Man

Those aren't pillows!

Prompt:  Why do I write?

(Writing Down the Bones, by Natalie Goldberg)

Date: 18 October 2011

Location:  26B

--

I write because I know it is going to take a lifetime of writing to explain the answer.  I write because there are novels with my name on them; maybe even a poem that comes from my own mind yet still makes me blush.  There are blog posts, too, which are part of the process where I become comfortable with my voice.  My voice is why I write, because it is how I tell my story, and I still need to find it.  A writer’s voice is in his words, and how can I find my voice unless I ink these words?  But will I find the words?  The only way to find out is to write, and that has to be the reason why I do it. 

My story is in books, letters, blogs, and e-mails.  It is within the thousand words that my craft sleeps.  My story is about catching up with words to the crazy thing that happened to me yesterday.  It’s my voice and I write because I am trying to find it.  I have been lead down a path with forks, spoons, knives, and sporks.  The path leads to my voice, to the reason why I write.  That reason is something elusive, but we know it is there.  All of us do, now it is only my subconscious that needs to be convinced.  It’s a Stanley cup in L.A., but it is mine.  It is the way I show you how I live, breath, and want to feel.

A True Story and Sporks are Rad

“Look, mummy, no roof!”  The no-more than five-year old kid could barely contain his excitement as he clutched at his mom’s purse.  I looked to where he pointed and smiled when I realized what he was talking about.  She was distracted by the voice in her mobile phone.  He yanked the purse down hard towards the ground, the strap almost snapped on her shoulder. “Look muuuuuuummmmy, la-look,” he said.

Titanium Spork

“Hmmm, ah yes, sorry one second right” she said into the receiver.  “What is it Nigel?”  She waited a half-second for his response, which she did not receive.  “Hmmm, okay then Nigel.”  She returned to the phone, “Right then…” 

His excitement waned, for just a second, and it cost him dearly.  He had her attention, but did not capitalize.  I watched as he realized that his communications skills were not sophisticated enough to tell the Real Housewife of London that whilst she burned the afternoon telling his Auntie about her lovely new purchases, he had just witnessed - no scratch that - he had just discovered, the most incredible thing in his life: A bus without a roof.