“We are cups, constantly and quietly being filled. The trick is, knowing how to tip ourselves over and let the beautiful stuff out.” ~ Ray Bradbury
I am a huge fan of a compelling chronicle allowing us to form visions of location, cast and characters depicted in a compelling story.
The telling of a story to a captivated audience, alluring them to picture in their minds a portrayal of real life or of fantasy without the aide of pictures or drawings is like no other communication skill.
A story that delights, granting the imagination to break free and allow us to dream; after all this is how history and human events worth noting were passed on to both our friends, neighbors and the next generation for thousands of years.
Someone very near and dear to me posed a question recently about why we both are so very interested in writing and why we were being driven to write and to write more often. As we admitted with a laugh that for now, only a few people would read what we wrote, therefore my answer to the “why” we were writing was quite simple.
I didn’t dare attempt to offer any deep, insightful reasoning for expressing my thoughts in this way, just that the process of writing simply made me feel wonderful, more filled with creativity and I was a far better person for doing so. Regardless if anyone was reading my words or would ever read what I wrote, I was connecting to the essence of adventure, a better understanding of our lives from which we form our inspiration. We were both writing only for ourselves as it was the preferred medication for protecting our sanity.
Once I had finished my 75th blog post however, I began to see and feel a more conspicuous path, a more energetic awareness than simply wanting to write, it had evolved into a urgency to communicate. From re-reading some of my older posts I realized that my written voice at times had a certain angst about it, and it was very apparent that I was unloading grief.
Beginning with the titles, through to the paragraphs, onto the shared quotations and depicted in the relevant pictures I had included to entice. I was attempting to circulate an important message, yet telling of stories hadn’t become my focus or keen awareness… Not just yet.
It was obviously a message written to me, for my benefit primarily, it was a lesson being described in detail to myself, and for myself. A series of instructional stories that only I could learn from, a quest to better comprehend an unspoken quarrel, it was whispering a healing chorus which would in-turn allow me to break free.
Reflecting on so many thoughts and ideas of the unlimited potential of a new year, I am reminded by my scribblings to better appreciate that I do have the aptitude and desire to write stories. What I needed more than the ability to write though was a willing audience and the inspiration to capture eager ears would only come through a much better understanding of the listener.
A yearning to communicate through writing includes as much if not more time for reading, studying, empowered conversations and those special moments connected with dear friends on far-reaching topics in hopes of answering questions about life. Any doubts about why I needed to write had dissipated, for expressing myself in hopes of reaching only a very few had become my only reward and therefore why hesitate?
It wasn’t about me at all, it was centered in a passion for mankind and my desire to offer a little happiness in the face of our day-to-day. A selfless expression of what I might dream up and put down on paper for others to enjoy, held with it came the answer and I know for certain now that these stories are inside all of us…