Writing and Being and Being a Writer Who Wants to Be a Writer

Writing.

This communication that is common to all, Draws me in. Not that it is my only way of transmission of ideas but it is one of our most complicated. Lines that once where abstract have sound attached and meaning. Lines and dots and dashes the slashes and symbols with a slew of uses. We use words on a screen and interpret hieroglyphs and take instruction. Our imagination soars to unknown worlds as we live other’s lives and find ourselves awake as it all transpires.

The fire that bellows in our bellies makes smoke on social media. The snippets that were put in the fire of who we are fill the atmosphere with our thoughts and musings.

Wanting to be a writer is absurd. It is my absurdity, it is my burden, I am compelled, called, and drawn to write. It is a small voice, it is a gut instinct, it isn’t peaceful it is wild.

You might not know that it is easy to have the desire to write and not to write. It is easy to think about writing and not to write- it is easy because no one is making you do it. There is however a desire that springs to life and moves in the bones through the veins into the muscles and onto the keyboard. Words that you understand and if done right that you see and feel and then pass on to others.

But there is more than that. There is so much more. There is death and rebirth. The idea is born without father or mother. It is the splitting of a cell not losing anything but gaining all previous knowledge and taking place in the mind of another. It makes its home in the host until they become one as the reader’s brain has to absorb the idea whole- chewing it until their mental saliva breaks it down and makes it a part of their gray matter. Their very nature has been touched with madness.

Like a man adrift on the sea most of us dream of a ship to come by and save us. But my ship had sunk, I watched others go by, their ships have no room for me. But in the distance I see it; it is an island, it could be paradise or a prison. That is what writing is like for me.

EndNote: I hit the publish button instead of the preview. Which means most people read this without the edits that had taken place. Sorry, for the sloppy sentences that still remain.

Published by Nino

🏴‍☠️ Embrace your crazy. We live only one life... It is a shame most people waste it on surviving the day.

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