Skip to main content

Love Your Writing


Over the weekend, as I sat outside on the summer kitchen porch, I wrote. I had risen early that Saturday morning (unlike me), snuck about the house to make strong coffee and attempted to not wake anyone with my putterings. Let me be clear and honest, this was not out of respect to allow the family a sleep in, but rather selfishly to afford myself some quiet time.

The strong coffee was grande in these early hours and I began my morning hiatus reading Nino Ricci’s The Origin of Species. I had waited in a rather long queue at the local library for this book, eagerly and excitedly signed it out when my turn came round, only to find a copy new-to-me for sale at the same library. Out of pure and raw need to possess (Buddha I continue to fail) I now have both copies in my possession. I don’t really understand my happiness at this.

Anyways, I was reading away, and drinking my breakfast when I was inspired by the early morning air, the smell of basil nestled in the pots about me, the wind as it messed about my hair; whatever it was that made me put down the book and pick up the pen (I have taken to carrying a journal with me wherever I take the book I am reading). Whatever made me write was known only to me and God at that moment (yes, I am paraphrasing Ezra Pound here).

I wrote pages. I wrote short poems, ideas, dreams, everything that made my pen move. I did not hold back. I was unabashed. I was lost in it. Other than the small death of love making, or the out-of-control laughter that grabs me at times when I am with my family and the closest of friends, I have nothing that absorbs me more than that steady hum of the pleasure of my writing. That is what writing is to me.

Writing is my chance to purge the many ideas that well up and are residing inside my head, waiting for their turn. The pen is my voice, the paper the air. I am free to speak my mind. It is my free voice to use and let it all out.

I am no stranger to the spoken word; I am not shy to speak out, by any means. I am well aware of the rules by which we are governed with this spoken word. For example, once uttered and heard, words cannot be taken back; swearing around elders is questionable at best; and generally when you talk about someone behind their back, they are likely standing just behind you – yes, behind your back (sorry Mrs. Turner). In writing, one affords themselves a carte blanche of sorts as it can be put away for one’s eyes only (one hopes!).

When I am in this free moment, this euphoric state of mind, when I give myself the liberty to say the things as I think, when I liberate my mind and desires, I really feel awe – like I could do anything. These are my moments – I am writing for me. I am generous with me, unselfishly generous.

Now, it is confession time – although I have not practiced for almost a decade, the Catholic girl is always inside, talking to me. She confesses now.

I do not allow everyone to read what I write.

This I have grown to be ashamed of. It is in the aftermath that the voices creep in, the judgement is laid down, and my ideas are reconsidered. This is the cross I have to bear. “Oh, that would offend my mother.” or “I cannot say that as so-and-so may think I am referring to them” and “What would the neighbours think?” and so on, and so forth…

My best work happens during chaos, when there are no limits and no rules. Therefore, I encourage myself first, and then you also, love your writing. It is your gift, it is your voice, and it is your freedom.

Write for yourself alone. Be generous with yourself, your ideas, and if you have the courage, share what you can afford to the world (or at least with me, I promise you I will read it, my appetite is ferocious these days).

As I write this, I am sitting propped up in my bed, surrounded in comfort which includes the CBC airing a medley of Frank Sinatra tunes, and oh how I love Frank Sinatra tunes…

I’ve got you under my skin
I’ve got you deep in the heart of me
So deep in my heart, that you’re really a part of me
I’ve got you under my skin

I’ve tried so not to give in
I’ve said to myself this affair never will go so well
But why should I try to resist, when, baby, will I know than well
That I’ve got you under my skin

I’d sacrifice anything come what might
For the sake of having you near
In spite of a warning voice that comes in the night
And repeats, repeats in my ear

Don’t you know you fool, you never can win
Use your mentality, wake up to reality
But each time I do, just the thought of you
Makes me stop before I begin
cause I’ve got you under my skin

Comments

  1. When I opened the blog page and discovered the title 'love your writing' I knew this post was 'that post', and I knew in advance it had been thought over and over and it would be something I would need to read before breakfast, so here I am. :) And it's beautiful. It's very beautiful and I'm happy to know you experience these moments you totally devote yourself to creation.

    It was Nietzsche who said "You need chaos in your soul to give birth to a dancing star" -and I'm sure you're responsible for many of the dancing starts we can see in the sky at night. I LOVE your writing. Kisses from your friend here in Brazil! ;) :*

    ReplyDelete
  2. AnonymousJuly 07, 2009

    you know wat .. first i love this image !! then i started reading and i just got lost ... it was reading about any writer .. we all do have some lines which we keep to ourself .. and also we all have times when we are not aware of what we write .. i mean .. this was so so beautiful !!

    ReplyDelete
  3. This is one of those mements in writing whereby I was inspired by an image - this image was forwarded to me through twitter, and I felt something about it as soon as I saw it. I stored the photo and began thinking about my writing. Then the words started to flow in the early morning.

    Kenia - I love the Nietzche quote. I have actually been looking at his work after recently watching 'When Nietzche Wept'. You appear in my head and soul.

    lostermaid - I am glad I found you. I always enjoy when I connect with people on a similar feeling or life experience.

    My best to you.

    ReplyDelete
  4. Sounds like a wonderful morning Janet. Wish you many more like that one.

    ReplyDelete
  5. It's almost like the words in my bubble thought, I feel exactly the same way about my writing. Writing serves as a release of my stress and has a cathartic effect when I'm upset about something. But I wonder why you don't want anyone to read your writing - the poems are wonderful!

    Thank you for your wonderful comment in my blog. Nice to meet you!

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

One Day I Saw Ty Conn

(This is being recalled from a very young mind...) When my father would begin telling a story from his childhood, he would begin with “When I was a little girl…” which would cause an uproar of high pitched objections from my sisters and myself. He would simply smile and continue on, as he now had our complete attention. I started this post at the beginning of November of this year when thoughts of my father return annually on the anniversary of his birthday. This story, however, is not about my father… When I was a little girl, I lived in a small house on Pine Street with my father, mother and three sisters. Ours was a busy, full house. Lisa was the oldest, very beautiful and very bossy. Pam was next, also very beautiful and we envied her fashion sense. I was the third in the line of my sisters, a middle child that cried a lot, made funny faces and was very comfortable at the centre of attention. My little sister, Joanne, enjoyed the status of being the baby in the family. She wa

John Milton on Freedom of Expression

'Give me the liberty to know, to utter, and to argue freely according to conscience, above all liberties.' In 1644 at the height of the English Civil War, John Milton penned Areopagitica , which is now known as one of history’s first impassioned defences to freedom of expression. Ironically, Milton never delivered this argument verbally, however there was no need, the message was clear; to allow freedom of speech in written form. John Milton may have been more concerned about religion and less with the politics of war; unfortunately, history has seen these two go hand in hand. Thanks to John Milton, and all who followed and fought for the right to freedom of expression. Thank you to all who exercise this right and provide the poetry, novels and the daily news which combined help to map out our history. On Time By John Milton Fly, envious Time, till thou run out thy race, Call on the lazy leaden-stepping hours, Whose speed is but the heavy plummet's pace; And glut thyself wi

AJ Vandrie “Bringing the Outside In”

His work has been described as a ‘balance between two worlds’.   AJ Vandrie grew up in Northumberland Hills with his adoptive family. His background is composed of Ojiway/Chippewa and Irish heritage. He pursued his art studies at the White Mountain Academy of the Arts in Elliot Lake, a school, located in an isolated area in Northern Ontario, sought to combine First Nations and European approaches to art, which was a great fit for AJ. After his first year of studies, he suffered a personal loss, with the death of his birth father and mother who died within a sort period of time from one another. It was at this time that AJ began exploring the art style that he is known for today.   Widely considered Woodland School of Art, this style is synonymous with the artist Norval Morriseau , whose influence is evident in the works seen here. One can find definite similarities between these two artists; style aside, they are both deeply spiritual, sharing, through their art, pers