I have discovered that I love what I write.
Though, sometimes I curse myself and my fear, I read back my work and find, quite startled, that I have fallen in love with this dream.
I wrote for 5 hours without stopping. Realized, quite suddenly, that time had passed, I was a bit dizzy from staring endlessly at a screen, and was a bit peckish.
I don’t know if this is normal but, when I am writing, it is like when I read, there is no thinking things over, it’s just flow. Like hearing a lovely song and getting so caught up in the tune, you’ve quite forgotten anything exists in the realm of actual thought, only feeling, doing, moving. Until you stop you can’t even explain what’s going to happen next.
I read over what I wrote amazed. I didn’t know what the story was going to be, until it was.
The best part, the absolute best part, was realizing it was just right. Just right.
I might burst into tears.
For I just realized….
I am a writer.
Where before I was stammering, hopeful, and trying….
Now, I am just accepting.
I am a poet, this I knew.
But now, NOW I am a writer.
No one can take it from me.
Even if I never get published.
I am proud of what I’ve created.
My heart has hope in it.
It looks kind of like a home that I can build with my own two hands.
By GOD! I can!