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