I fell in love with words as a child. I tried to cram as many into my head as possible. I stood out from my peers because of my large vocabulary. They nicknamed me "The Walking, Talking Encyclopedia". They really meant dictionary, and they didn't mean harm. They respected me.
Knowing words didn't satisfy me. I wanted to know how to use them well. Outspoken, I experimented with using my words for different effects--making pleas for my classmates, testing my boundaries with my parents, and writing. I fell in love with writing in elementary school.
One of my reading teachers, Lincoln S. Tripp, expanded our curriculum from the state sanctioned, bland textbooks. He taught us Latin and Greek roots to get us thinking about language and to help us to understand it better, and he created writing assignments that pushed our abilities. I wrote my first play in his class, an adaptation of a horror story about a precocious girl.
My sense of joy in writing continued through the grades through my different ages. Sometimes I fear my speaking ability is outstripped by my writing ability, and I wish I was half as clever verbally as I am in prose. Still the desire to reach out and seduce a reader into my prose remains.
I majored in English and writing at my university, and I scored high marks. I did well with deadlines, and I earned good grades for writing projects. I participated in my area's literary scene, and I contributed with my words and by co-organizing a reading series.
Once I moved away from deadlines and into the adult world, I fell into the same trap as many other creative types. My energy for production faltered as my practical side forced my to focus on earning a living. In turn, music and film distracted me and seduced me. When I moved away from creative friends, I lost my coterie to push and inspire me to write.
Still the words remain in my head and present me with new ideas as they form new stories. I wonder if distant friends experience the same, or if all is lost to living in the straight world and making a straight living.
Other friends have kept in touch, and in their words they reach out to me to inspire. They tell me what they are working on, and the makers ask me about my work. I appreciate being cajoled. Their words show the love of friendship, and they show they respect me and my work.
To honor myself and my friends and to push me to write, I have created this blog. Intentionally I have created a separate one from my personal blog on another site. I dedicated this blog to writing and my writing. I have made it public to keep me honest. This blog will document my activity or lack thereof and serve as an impetus to push me into the words I so love.
