I figured discovering myself may take awhile…not unlike finally unwrapping a much-anticipated gift—depending on perspective time seems to go either really fast or slow waaay dooowwwwnnn. Right now time is flowing like molasses trying to answer these questions. The first one drained me for the rest of the afternoon. Not sure how long this will take…but I guess as long as it takes.
Question Two (currently learning Spanish…so I think possibly…la pregunta dos..)
They say that writing picks the writer—that you don’t have much of a choice before you come down with word fever. But if it were the other way around, why would you say you (consciously or not) picked writing? What did writing save you from or what did it do for you, when you chose it as one of your main forms of expression?
I know that I’ve always been praised for my writing since I was in elementary school. I read voraciously…in fact I regularly spent time at the local library and got to know Mrs. Barbara Langer who later became my mentor and speech and debate coach. I learned to love the library and spent more time in its stacks then anywhere else. My mother was also influential to me and I suppose steered me towards my love affair with language. She taught Latin at the local university and as a teenager she had me and my sister, Christie, enrolled in after-school Latin and Greek classes throughout high school. Even though I have only retained a small amount of both languages, it has served me well throughout my college courses and learning new languages.
But how was I different than my three other sisters who were (in different degrees) “subjected to” language in all forms? I suppose it was because I couldn’t draw or take photographs as well as my sisters as well as the fact that teachers especially liked my poetry and essays. My favorite class throughout high school was English so I guess it was no wonder—a few years down the road—I graduated cum laude with a degree in Speech Pathology.
But now? Writing seems to me like the most natural way to express myself…I love art and adore music, but my Muse seems to be connected through words. The way that words can drop one headfirst into another time, another culture….become logical and fallacy at the same time…travel from my very being, through my solar plexus, up past my scarred bleeding hemorrhaging heart, past my mouth that doesn’t always have the correct way of “putting things” right onto a waiting, expectant, pregnant with anticipation page. At first, writing allowed me to escape within myself into a world that I could understand and felt equal in. Then, as I grew older, it became a way to gain others’ approval through academic achievement. I did as I was expected to and received the appropriate As on my transcript throughout the years.
But now….but now….
I’m putting the pieces together now…..I’m starting a different leg of my life journey. I’m leaving behind childish need for praise and approval. I’m writing for myself.