Even when no one is listening…

Image Writers live lonely lives.

Reflective.

Lonely.

Lives.

Our passion consumes us. Drawn out periods of sporadic inspiration. We scribble furiously, taunting an invisible net at the phantom fireflies taunting our minds. A tiny bit of madness is required. The ability to lose oneself on the page. Time does not exist. Just an abundance of coffee, tea, notebooks and writing utensils. Relationships often take a toll during waterfall like bouts of inspiration. Appointments and plans set aside until completion of a chapter, page or paragraph.

At times the writer leaves their own needs unattended. We forget to eat. Hell, we forget that food exists. We lose track of time, as an hour turns into an evening. And an evening into a week long battle with the page. We grow increasingly irritable during dark periods of ‘Writer’s Block” . We neglect the expectations of society becoming the eccentrics your mother warned you to stay away from as a child.

Writers are dangerous people.

Difficult to be close friends with. Both a social butterfly and an exclusive hermit. Extreme personalities bent on making a difference. Dedicated to wearing whatever color glasses necessary to see the world through. Hopeless romantics. Cynical skeptics. Passionate activists. Daring detectives. Sparkling divas. Our person goes through a whirlwind of experiences. Fictional and real. They feel equal in importance to us. As writers, our characters reflect pieces of our own soul. Our stories often personal dreams never actualized. Our words snippets of  our lives. Our books mirrors of our being. When you read our pages you are staring the nakedness of our being in the eye. Authors take great risks. We present ourselves to the world in the purest form possible. Raw. Naked. Transparent. Then silently wait for the critic to speak. Never lie to a writer. We will know. We seem to have a 6th sense for dishonesty. Always, tell us the truth. Even if it’s not pretty. We will appreciate the courage it took be honest. The same courage it took us to ask for an opinion.

This is the reason we write. To encourage brilliance and confidence. To share beauty and love. To appreciate what is and what isn’t. We write because we can. We write in hopes that someone somewhere will care to read our message. Even if it’s just one soul. Even if that one soul is our own. We write for ourselves. We write for you. We create. We share. We write. We write because we don’t know how not to write. Because when we aren’t writing we lose sight of who we are; our relationship to this world and our purpose in existing.

We write because it’s who we are.

Thank you for reading. Thank you for loving parts of our soul. That you for hating bits here and there. Thank you for your input. Thank you for your support. Thank you for putting up with this slightly over dramatic girly optimist.

Much Love,

Rachel

P.S. To my friends. Thank you for not once asking me to “take a break.” Thank you for understanding and accepting this aspect necessary to my health and well being. Thank you for being patient with me 🙂

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

Tag Cloud

%d bloggers like this: