I’m writing less on my blog because I started writing my book. The book I’ve been saying I’m going to write for the last 2 years. It’s not at all what I thought I’d write about but isn’t life always like that? Never ending up the way we imagined? But still it’s what’s inside me, needing to come out. This story that needs to be told. It’s living inside me and I want it out. It’s time.
I’m a writer.
Because I say I am.
Because I believe I am.
Because I write.
Because I have something to say and the best way I know how to say it is to write it.
Not that I’m not good with being verbal, because I am.
But I’m better when I write it down.
I don’t need to be paid for it.
I do it for free.
I do it because I have a passion for it.
Because I love it.
Because I know I’m supposed to.
I write about what I know.
And what do I know better than my own experience?
What could I possibly know better than the story of my life?
What do I know better than what happens all around me?
I write about what needs to be said.
I write the truth.
Harsh at times, loving at times, confusing at times, but always the truth.
Love it, hate it, accept it or deny it.
Just know this, words hold a lot of power, written or spoken, texted or tweeted.
And these words are written just for you.
I see you.
I see your soul.
I see past the mask and the character, the shortcomings and all of your humanness.
I see myself in you, and you in me.
We are the same you and I, just decorated a bit differently on the outside.
I know you.
Maybe better than YOU know you.
And you’re very much okay.
It’s all going to be okay.
What a better way to remind you, just in case you forget, than etching these written words in this very place, to be part of history, so when you forget you can re-read them.
You can come back to find these very words.
By a writer.