We all do art. Words are art, spoken or written no matter. If you bring sound from silence, you are creating and you are an artist. If you coax something out of what is in your mind into art and put it outside of yourself where it is visible, you are an artist!
We are creating all of the time. I suppose you could say we are creating all kinds of causes and conditions that if they do not manifest today or tomorrow, their seeds are there waiting for that stimulus to awaken whatever those may be.
Now its time for a confession. This is a writing practice. You see, there’s this thing in me. Let’s say it’s like in the paragraph above. There’s something in my mind, heart, spirit that is really seeks written expression. How, after all, can any of us write unless we write? We practice all kinds of things in life to get better. We workout at the gym in order to get stronger. We walk to stay healthy and such things as this. Writing is no different.
There are these ideas and thoughts about stories to create — for fun, for maybe inspiration or some kind of education but I’ve got to use this form. Fingers on the keyboard. Using a pen and paper makes my hand numb. Go figure. I’ve tried it but typing; yes, it’s a ‘can-do’!
Many times, nonsense is written and let me apologize if I’m already boring any readers. There are only a few minutes left to this practice but before I go, let me describe a thing or two. The overhead daylight bulb in the desk lamp just to my left creates flashes of sparkle from my silver rings as they move on the keys. One is heart-shaped. That was my mother’s. Another ring is a feather-shaped which reminds me to lighten up. Actually, it reminds me of finding a white feather just at the door threshold of the hospital when I was admitted for gallbladder surgery. A sign that the angels were watching over me? I’d like to think so. And then there’s the bulky butterfly which is my favorite. Looking beyond the lamp, its dark outside and the day went well. There was no drama trauma and that always rings the gratitude bells of the heart.
It’s snowed today and while nothing stuck (*or laid as they say in the high country), the cold rushed in like an unkind guest when the door was opened. I had to do this to feed the stray cats just before nightfall. Such boring stuff, I know. That’s why I get discouraged by this writing business but all the books about writing say, just do it. Its a really great slogan Nike! Really is. Well, there’s the timer.
I came onto this blog to add something and to tidy up a few things so while here, this post happened. You see, in a moment of weakness, I paid the ransom to get rid of the advertising at the end of the posts and then had got myself in big trouble doing a name change server redirect thing with my hosting service. A tangled web it was!
Well, beeper just went off; writing practice is over. Sorry about the big bore. If only I could be more clever.
I sit and stare up at the light to see what the mind wants to type next to end this, but the only thing that comes to mind is dinner. It’s getting near 8 PM and my stomach feels betrayed.
I apologize for any run-on sentences or typos or any other writing errors; this was dashed off in a flash. I usually do my writing practices in a Penzu Journal.