If you define a writer as simply someone who writes, then I am just that. If you go further and say that a writer is someone who writes for others to read, that is where you lose me. Until now. I have been writing since as far back as I can remember. I fell in love with words at a young age because of their ability to spark pictures in my mind. You see, I'm a very visual person who thoroughly enjoys seeings things in order to experience them. Oddly enough, it is my visual preferences that have fed into my adoration of words. Having proudly held onto my childlike imagination, if you give me the right combinations or strings of words, I can paint my own visuals inside the canvases of my brain. When I hear stories, I take the words being thrown my way and create a movie that plays out as my own private viewing.
Storytelling, in all its many facets and alleyways, is my favorite thing in the world. I love listening to the adventures others have lived through, I love reading about the fictional journeys through Narnia and real-life settings, but I really love sharing my own stories - those fabricated from the weirdness inside my cranium, as well as those that I have already breathed life into as I lived through them the first time (continuing to do so again and again as I share each one).
I will be the first to admit that when I write, I do not sound like the scholarly articles that I have to read for my grad classes. My voice does not mimic the kind of writers who win awards for their eloquent voices and their masterful arrangement of words. I am simply a voice who tries to say it as it is, without superfluous wordage or enhancement, though as a natural rambler, I am sure to fail at that often.
If you're here reading this, I welcome you. Maybe this is the time I'll truly pour myself into my writing for strangers to read and stick around awhile. Then again, maybe I'll shy away from the possibility of others actually seeing my words and will once again make all my posts private.
We shall see.
Until next time,