life in the mind of a writer.
Writers are odd. It just is what it is. Not because we wear funny hats or novelty socks, just because we are the ones that make words mean everything. Words: They are this strangely woven fabric that blends the world together and can, at will, tear the seam away and force it to unravel. Words are magnificent. They thrive, they wither, they can be poisonous daggers, or they can be the more profound. I recently experienced a lot of changes as a writer. I took my ego out of it completely. I accepted that I am simply a writer among writers and my perspective is simply that. Adaptations, stories, truth - it’s all my version of it and there is nothing to say mine is the right interpretation. That’s where you all come in. Writers are either incredibly stupid or unlawfully courageous. We leave it to you to test our abilities. So, in a strangely disturbing way, thanks for judging me. I can write every single day (which I do and am often painfully exhausted as a result) and I can be nonsensical or deep, funny or enlightening, pointless or daft, entertaining or wasteful. Thought does go in to each word I allow to spew from the broken well I refer to as my soul. It’s a marred, ugly, broken little thing but it’s got some cracks where beauty seeps in. I see this world as my canvas. Every face, every laugh, every gesture, every conversation, every moment - they all feed my need to create, to tell a story. And for writers, story is the the unspoken truth. In our freakish minds anyway.
So next time you come across a writer and you think, wow, they don’t really look like they have all that going on inside of their brain, think again. A great writer leaves you guessing… and when they can’t, they just write a movie about it.
written by Dawn Garcia - posted on writeslave.org
