Canada, the land of snow, is so beautiful in the winter. I absolutely LOVE waking up to a blanket of snow on the ground, especially under a dark sky. It makes me feel like a child all over again. Wish I owned a couple of sleds to take advantage of some of the hills here, and start a couple of snowball fights while I am at it!
With snow still falling, I enjoyed the scenery cuddled up with a blanket and read for the morning. My pups snuggled right in to enjoy a quiet, relaxing couple of hours before the hunger began.
Now with that dealt with, I figured I better post something to keep up the habit. It takes a bit to form those, sadly, though it would be wonderful to wake up, and have a new routine with ease. But we all start at square one, and I felt the need to go through some of my old tinkerings with the written word (some over a decade old).
Here I am to share one that struck a chord with me today since it belies feelings I have again. It’s called My Medium:
I find myself sitting here again. At this empty desk, struggling with my need to write and the lack of words I have to write down. Do all writers, good or bad, successful or wannabe, feel this way? The constant desire to feel the pencil, the pen in your own hands? I think we all enjoy, as writers, our words describing a painting, or better yet, giving colours to feelings, to emotions. We connect to a dark need in our readers, so subconscious it’s scary, since it is OUR mind showing another a way to think. We open different minds to the most unique of concepts. Dare I say our art of words is stronger, more sophisticated than the art of colours, of paintings, of sketches? No. We are all equal. Everyone in the world is an artist. There are just different depths, ideals, simplicities, and complexities. This is how I choose to be an artist. This is how I dare to share my soul, my deepest depths.
I MUST continue on this path. I was chosen by the words, as others are chosen for their mediums.
This was written and posted to my deviantart account, long since dormant, in August 2009. When I was… 18, 19 years old… and it is sad to think how much school robbed me of my energy to write. I let the need to write fade from me, for one excuse after another, and I am really glad I have found my way back to it over the past year and a half. (I am hopeful perhaps in saying I have grown past what I see as arrogance and superiority in that bit of writing).
I won’t say I loved everything about myself when I was that old, or certain attributes I possessed, but there were certain things I miss about that person that I am trying to grab hold of again. All those things relate to creating something or other. Writing, drawing, painting, sketching… I am bringing them back into my life, alongside other new things.
I have had the chance to do some blacksmithing, and learning how to knit. My (younger) sister will help me relearn the guitar again, and play better than before. The need to create and learn new things is burning brighter than ever, and I won’t let it go out again.
Whatever you’re meant to do, do it now. The conditions are always impossible. ~ Doris Lessing
P.S. in case you feel the need to check out some of my work from years ago though I am sure some of it will crop of here and there on this blog.