When I write, I reach into every part of my brain for images and words, ideas and moments I can use to color my work.
I don’t really think about the cost of opening all of those closed doors, digging up those bodies and bones, waking those demons from their sleep.
Once I visit them they’re free to wander around in my head and sooner or later they pop out of my mouth during conversations, in nightmares and dreams and I’m not so sure that is a bad thing.
Sometimes I hear my writer’s voice over riding the voice I use and have used for many years.
It’s voice that never really said what I was thinking, it was a voice that never took chances or belonged to a brain that wanted to go in one direction while common sense and the life belonging to a blue collar suburbanite wanted to go in another.
Sometimes that Voice that belongs to the Writer in me curls her lip up Elvis style and paints a picture in words that sucks the oxygen out of the room- and instead of hoping I didn’t offend anyone I want to do a victory lap around the room.
How’s that going for me you ask?
Swimmingly well, I’d reply.
Do you know how many years I’ve spent measuring each and every word that fell out of my mouth because I didn’t want to offend or upset anybody. Too many.
And if I had not started to write again and opened those doors and rattled those bones I doubt if I would have changed.
I’m willing to speak up for one reason- if it makes me a better writer I will speak up, I will treat my own ideas and thoughts with the same respect I have given to other people.
I have always wanted to be a Writer- and I am learning that is who I am- its not what i do.
Soul Food Cafe Prompt: Milton and the Muse