Living With Words

I am a writer. My life is marked by words. And sometimes, by the absence of words. The words I say, or write, or think, and again, by the ones I don't. I am like Lena in that. She is an artist, regardless of her  current state of creating art. It is in her, forever.
   Sometimes it's the things we say that define us, or the things we do. Sometimes it's the ones we don't. The ones that gently turn to regrets. The missed opportunities for action, and in the case of a writer, the missed opportunities for words.

Perhaps you did not feel so very much after all. - Sense and Sensibility

   My life is marked by periods of words. Like high school. Where words were far between, but lengthy and morose when I did find them. This got worse when I started college. I wouldn't say the words came in waves - mostly because they never tapered off slowly. They would stop, suddenly. A sudden absence in my consciousness.
   Writing is more like hunting for prey. Building up the courage, forming the strategy, planning the timing, working it all together. Then attacking when the moment is right. Attacking as best you can for as long as you can.
But it's a dangerous beast, and someday you must give up. To live for another fight, another day. Another set of words.

Like wings, they are a burden that lifts us. Burdens that allow us to fly. - Bones 4.22

   I think I feel that burden. The need to write and create, and when all else fails, write some more. Sometimes it's the kind of need that makes you run in the other direction. Sometimes it's the need that seduces you, tricks you. Then you're stuck with it in your bed the morning after and it looks much less appealing now than after a few drinks last night, but you don't know how to get rid of it...
   I wake up with words.
   I go to sleep with words. They're a part of my life in an every-single-goddamned day kind of way.

My interior monologue never stops. Sometimes I wish it did. I've heard some people don't have one. At first I thought that would be so freeing. Then I thought, How lonely would that be? I've never lived without The Words. Not that I can remember at least.
I remember the day my brother taught me how to read to myself. I wanted to read, so I would read to him. I wonder if that was when it started - my inner monologue. Or when I first became aware of it...
I wonder if that's when I was destined to be a writer...
I think my brother just wanted me to stop talking to him all the time.

I think I love most the poetry of words. But I really don't like poetry at all.
I remember quotes because I love the words. They're exciting. And beautiful. And magical.
I find magic in words.
And I hope to convey (someday) magic in my own, for someone else.

-AJ