So, my friend wrote a blog post entitled, “Writing is…” She tagged me, which means I have to write a post on the same topic. It’s kind of like a chain letter. *Note to self: Slap @WookiesGirl next time you see her* Just kidding. I’m glad she did because my blog is woefully neglected. Here it goes…
Writing is…in my blood. Today, for the first time, it dawned on me where my love of writing came from. My mother kept journals religiously and wrote about everything. Did she ever write a book? No. But she penned the story of her life. I inherited boxes full of her journals after she passed away. Someday, when I’m ready, I will read her stories and get to know her all over again.
Writing is…who I am. I write when I’m happy, when I’m sad, when I’m angry and when I need to get something off my chest. I write to remember and I write to forget.
Writing is…my self help for what might be termed as schizophrenia by a professional. I’ve heard the voices in my head for as long as I can remember. These people, these characters, talk to me and tell me their stories. They tell me of their broken hearts, broken spirits and broken lives. They tell me of their joys, their loves and their accomplishments. I’m a literary medium of sorts for these lost fictional souls. They tell me what they need to move on and I help them by writing their tales; releasing them from the captivity of my brain.
Writing is…my salvation and my damnation, my pleasure and my pain, my fantasy and my fear, my dream and my nightmare, my best friend and my worst enemy, my love and my abhor, my shelter and my escape, my lust and my disgust.
In short, writing is…me.
Time to tag the next batch of writers I hope will participate!
Until next time…