For my job I’m constantly creating lesson plans, handouts, new activities, art projects, seating charts, behavior intervention plans, and the list just continues. And don’t get me wrong; I enjoy it. However, there is something that bewitches me even more. Creating art. I don’t want to define art because I feel that undermines the very purpose of art. Art has no definition, no rhyme or reason. Art just is. The type of art I’m discussing though, the kind that I call my own, is writing. Sure there are several mediums I indulge in, but writing is the closest to my heart.
Writing has been a love of mine for a while. I’m mesmerized by the intermingling of words; a dance that they perform throughout each sentence. I began this love of writing in high school, when I joined the high school paper. I loved reporting, editing, and watching the creation process happen, from beginning to end. Since high school, I worked for a few local papers and published for a few online magazines. I began journaling more and in turn, found myself falling in adoration of the truth that I could unveil in a journal entry. When I write it’s as if another layer of me is being pulled back, another part being revealed. I can more easily express my soul through writing than I can in a conversation.
Words affect me more than anything and writing allows me to craft something and take it’s own life form. In the beginning of a creative writing I intend for the piece to go one way, but by the completion of the writing the piece has become it’s own. It has it’s own life and once it’s out there, once the writing is available for consumption, it stands on it’s own. I wish I could write all the time. And I’m not referring to e-mails, or text messages, or tweets. I wish to write everyday, all day long. I realize it’s a dream. But it’s one I’m attempting to make a reality.
