Words on Paper

A/N: Several weeks ago I threw metaphorical darts at a dartboard until an idea stuck and I just kind of ran with it...The result has been sitting in my drafts for a while now and I figured I would toss it up here. More Scomiche stuff coming soon, but for now maybe you'd like to get another peek in to the mind of the author? 

Tonight I write. I write to feel something. Feel happy. Feel sad. Feel relief. Feel something. I write mantras over and over. I write bits and pieces of storylines that float relentlessly around in my head. I write notes to people that I'll never send. I write my worries. I write my fears. I write my momentary joys. I write my momentary sorrows. Fleeting thoughts and crazy ideas. Plain gibberish and beautiful words. I write it all. There's no true order to my writing as I jump from idea to idea, line to line, page to page, thought to thought, until even I didn't know what I'm writing about. I write until my arm aches too much to continue or the ink runs dry: whichever comes first. 

Here you can see my hand feebly attempting to keep up with the mind that controls it. Here you can see my desperate need for expression.

The very act of writing has a calming effect over me. More than just getting ideas out of my mind and onto a page, the movement of my pencil reflects my innermost emotions and energy. Careful, congruent cursive flows from my fingertips as vibrant descriptions unfold of complex spaces, of subtle actions, of passionate emotions, of intricate ideas, of everything. Its tall slants and precisely constructed curves reflect the reverence for detail with which I write. The careful command of the rise, fall, and interactions of energy is apparent and enrapturing and laced through all of my orchestrated scenes. 

Here you can see the carefulness with which my eyes study every environment I exist in. Here you can see my sensitivity to the world.

On another page, my script takes a different form. It bounces along in loose, rounded, and brilliantly colored print. The page on the desk before me fills, telling little tales full of humor, light, and love. It fills with expressions of gratitude to friends and love and adoration to idols and role models. It records kitschy quotes about happiness and the whimsical dreams of the girl to whom the print belongs. In this casual handwriting the creativity soars and ideas flow freely. 

Here you can see the light and joy I bring to my life. Here you can see my happiness.

Still yet, a rushed scrawl done in cheap ballpoint pen tells another story. Half the thoughts are left unfinished and there are more questions on the page than concrete statements. The writing is barely legible in many places and that's just what I prefer: indiscernible and ambiguous, because this writing is for me. It provides release and sanity: a weight lifted off the shoulders if you will. But this is also for you, to show that I am human just as you are, Reader. If you look at my work carefully enough, you will see ideas from this headspace embroidered everywhere, because what is a writer's work without a peace of their experiences embedded at the heart of a peace it to evoke feeling from their reader? 

Here you see the pain that sometimes lies deep within my heart and the anxiety that sometimes clouds my brain. Here you can see my raw emotion.

Do I write for others? Maybe. Of course, I write for myself first, evident by the countless bound journals and old notebooks filled to the brim with anything and everything that flowed through my brain at one point or another, all of which I would probably never share. Yet, here I am: sharing something here that would typically go there. I'd be lying if I said that the thought of letting someone into my headspace wasn't exciting, thrilling even.

I wonder constantly about what you, dear reader, picture with my descriptions. I wonder what you feel from my humor. I wonder if the emotion embedded into something I write really make you feel something just as powerful. Allowing you into this headspace of mine whether through fictitious work or ramblings such as this is vulnerable and scary, but more than that, it is inspiring and a unique experience. As always, I am willing to let you into this creative headspace of mine if you are share in the magic of the process too. 

A/N: Let me know what you think? I think readers and writers have a unique and powerful relationship. Do you like getting a look in to the brain responsible for one half of that relationship?