At the tender age of seven, I took it upon myself to write my very first book. I illustrated it, and covered it with construction paper, printing out the title and all three of my names (yes, even back then!). I still have it. And, lately I’ve considered framing it in a shadow box to hang up as a reminder of who am I.
I am a writer. Words bubble up from my soul. I watch, observe and imagine more than most people (except for my fellow writer’s). Stories appear everywhere, characters playing through my mind, introducing themselves, asking to be tucked away to wait for their stories to unfold.
I wrote and read my way through high school. And one would think that someone like me would have been a Literature major, but no. I went to a very competitive engineering and science school. Mostly because my friends and family questioned what I would do with a Literature major, besides teach (which I knew I didn’t want to do).
In college, I wrote technical papers aplenty and found a niche that continued into my career. Technical people typically do not write well. So between my natural ability with words and my desire to actually sit down and document technical processes, well, I was in high demand.
Then, about seven or eight years ago, I started feeling out of sorts. A book called “The Artist’s Way“, by Julia Cameron, came into my life in a round about way. That book reacquainted me with my creative self. And, over time, my life began to change in small and sometimes dramatic ways.
There was a particular poem that Julia Cameron wrote that I printed out and hung in my office. Only a handful of coworkers actually took the time to read it, and out of those people, only one person commented. He asked if I had written it. I chuckled something like “I wish”. He looked me straight in the eyes and told me, “Stop wishing that you were a writer, and just start writing.”
That comment sparked a conversation that lasted over an hour. This man, a co-worker that I had only spoken to briefly here and there about work, became my messenger, my guide. What he said to me was so off-the-cuff and honest, it pierced right through my daily-life filters and sunk in, deep. Here I am, many years later, still feeling the spot in my soul where his words landed.
I don’t know where I’m headed in this journey of words – my words, my stories, my truth. I’m not sure I am supposed to know where I’m going (are any of us?!). So I will continue to write and read and follow along this winding path of words.
I would like to share the poem that started this journey for me – it so perfectly puts into words what I feel about being a writer.
Words For It, by Julia Cameron
I wish I could take language
And fold it like cool, moist rags.
I would lay words on your forehead.
I would wrap words on your wrists.
“There, there,” my words would say –
Or something better.
I would ask them to murmur,
“Hush” and “Shh, shhh, it’s all right.”
I would ask them to hold you all night.
I wish I could take language
And daub and soothe and cool
Where fever blisters and burns,
Where fever turns yourself and you.
I wish I could take language
And heal the words that were the wounds
You have no names for.
::: ::: ::: ::: ::: ::: ::: :::
Have you ever had one of those “a-ha” moments? Doesn’t this poem just speak volumes about what it is to be a writer? Do you have a favorite poem, or book, or piece of art that serves as your inspiration? Did you major in Literature in college? When did you write your first book (as a child, teen?)
I was always fascinated with reading, maybe because I dreamed of writing those stories one day. In the fifth grade I wrote a play that was performed in my classroom. In the sixth grade, I wrote a play that was actually performed in front of the school. It wasn’t until I was in high school that I started to think seriously about writing. That is when I wrote my first book – a children’s book. It got very good feedback from a college literature class that reviewed it. But then I abandoned writing for many years – only occasionally making efforts that I would consequently tear up. Most writing I have done since then has been more essay than creative fictional. I love poetry, although I tend to write very short verse rather than sonnets or epic poetry. I tend to like more structured poetry than free verse…but if it is good, it stands on its own – no matter what.
I can’t say I ever had an ‘ah-ha’ moment as it pertains to writing. I think I have always enjoyed writing. Since I am just returning to it, I need some practice. I am feeling my way as I go along.
My favorite poem is Robert Frost’s “The Road Not Taken’. I think it applies to so many aspects of life, but certainly the writing life. The poem you posted has a very physical feeling, and it is perfect. I am going to put that book on my ‘to read’ list.
I have had many college majors – too long of a story for here. In the end, I chose Literature as my major – and it is the one major I loved and stuck with.
Sorry to go on and on. Your post gave me something to think about
Yesterday, I had an ‘ah-ha’ moment when my brother asked me what my ‘vision’ and ‘intended demographic’ were for my blog. I told him I hadn’t really thought about it, I just want to write. (I gave up writing that other people might read a long time ago – except for college required writing).
I wrote a couple of plays in elementary school (actually got performed), and a children’s book in high school (reviewed by a college Lit class with good reviews), but most of my writing since then has been torn up (I do that periodically).
I have had many college majors (about 10 – long story), but I finally settled on Literature (I loved it and stuck with it).
I enjoy reading your blog! I really like the phyicality of the poem you shared, and I think I will check out that book. My favorite poem (if I must choose) is Robert Frost’s “The Road Not Taken”. It’s not unique, but it is so meaningful.
(I tried to post last night, but I don’t see it, so I am not sure what happened – try, try, again.)
As this is my third attempt at replying, I will be brief. I’ll explain below.
I did write a few things when I was younger. I wrote a couple of plays in elementary school; one performed in my fifth grade class, and one that I wrote in sixth grade that was performed before the school. But other than a lot of adolescent girl diary stuff, I didn’t write much else until high school. Mostly I wrote poetry and essays, which is still where I lean. I did write a children’s book that got good reviews from a college literature class, but even that wasn’t pure imaginative fiction – it was about a little boy learning to swim and overcoming his fear of the water.
As an adult, I have had periods off and on of writing, having abandoned it for some time. When I did write, I didn’t preserve it. Instead, I usually tore it up. I don’t know why. Just did.
Anyway, when I started blogging, my brother asked me why. What was my vision? Who were my demographic? I think that was my ah-ha moment. I told him I just wanted to write. Hopefully, someone will want to read it.
I really loved the physicality of the poem you shared, and I think I might like to read that book. Thanks.
Ok, that wasn’t so brief. Anyway, I believe my other attempts to comment have gone to your spam. Akismet said they fixed the problem, but my guess is that you need to unspam me, in order for me to comment using my blog’s URL (crimeandliterature). I am going to try posting this with my gravatar URL.
Thanks for your persistence in commenting! Sorry that it wasn’t working for you, not sure why it thought you were spam?
But I did “unspam” you!
I love “The Road Not Taken” too!
And I think you should keep writing and maybe stop tearing it up! (but I can relate a bit) It takes practice, and courage…and I’m guessing that even the Great Writers out there feel insecure about words that we, the readers, cherish and idolize.