I write, not because I want to, but because I must. And there are just so many words and ideas that my mind can contain before releasing the surplus into the vast universe where they will either be repurposed or allowed to die. But even death is not an end for them, because words or their meanings are eternal and can be reincarnated at any time. And what they failed to do for me they might for another writer. And so it goes…
Some people knit or weave, joining strands of yarn together to create intricately beautiful things. Others mix and blend colors to honor the world with canvases that take our breath away. Still others use their bodies, their voices or their evocative skills, not only to entertain but to also communicate something that lives deep within them. Then there are writers, who take the thoughts and ideas of all the people who have ever lived and try to channel them into something new and meaningful.
I read somewhere not long ago that there is just one mind, one great storehouse of knowledge and information that we all draw from in our daily lives and from which some of us tap the energy to do what we do. That energy is then filtered through our own experiences and becomes our particular form of art, and it is as unique to us as our eye color or our smile.
When I started writing many years ago, it was because I had something to say that I thought would benefit others as well or at least get them thinking. Later, that evolved into an imperative that grew sacred over time of sharing certain stories that had never been told and that would never have been told had I not written them. For who would otherwise have known of an old house discovered by a group of children at the top of a hill in a mill town in Maine or a small purse that a German lady had carried with her through World War II? Who would ever have known about Mrs. B., the old woman who covered her walls with mementoes, or of a farm family who must come up with new survival tactics to make it through a monster winter storm?
And then there’s the woman who has cancer and just weeks to live and who does the only thing she can think of to do: run to the woods where she believes she will be safer than she might in a hospital bed.
I don’t know what other configurations my own collection of words and ideas will assume from here on out. What I do know is that I will enjoy wherever they take me and hope that those who have accompanied me along the way will as well.
My books can be viewed by visiting: http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B00JJ259DS