I love to write. By hand and by mouth. I love when words come out of both.
I’m not good with numbers. Or being mature. Or keeping in touch with my friends. Or making lots of money. Or being ambitious.
But I love to create sentences, on paper, and in the air. It feels like words come out of nowhere and know how to collect together to make sense. I’m an instrument, the car that drives words around to where they want to go. They say, “Drop me off up there please, driver.”
The one thing I know is I can’t corral words. I can’t make them go where I think they should go. That’s okay. The words get to be original and I get to enjoy the ride.
It’s funny to me how some words only want to be spoken. I’ll find myself saying something out loud, and I know that group of words would look terrible on the page. They have their particular nature.
Sometimes I don’t write a blog post for weeks. The words don’t want to come together during that time. I’ll want them to. I’ll even ask them to. I’ll sit down, open my computer, log on to the blog post page and wait. But like I was saying before, I’m the car that came to pick up and drive the words to their destination, and they don’t get in the car.
And then tonight, when I’m tired and getting ready for bed, the words get in the car, me, and say, “Take us to the blog post.” And of course I say, “Yes, let’s go.” Because I love words and I’ll drive them anywhere.
Anyway, they are dropped off now, and done with me. So, goodnight.