Such pretty words

In January of this year, I wrote four essays in two weeks, along with some journalism assignments, totaling some 10,000 words. I posted about how I never wanted to write another word again. Later that day, I posted the first bit about how Fae and I were starting to work on The Book.

The truth is that I can’t live without writing. I have been doing it as long as I remember. I even enjoy writing essays and journalism assignments (except when I procrastinate too much). I love words. I love communicating. I love creating an image with words.

In 2009, I started to take my writing seriously. Fae and I wrote over 50,000 words of The Book. We even attempted NaNoWriMo (we failed though… we got maybe 5,000 words in November). I started blogging regularly, something I greatly enjoy. This time last year, the only person who read my blog was Fae. Over the summer I managed to post nearly every weekday. I started to feel my way through this blogosphere, and where I wanted to be in it. I still have a lot to think about, and big plans for this blog. But the point is that I was writing. All the time. And in writing, as in all things, practice makes perfect, right? I’m learning how to write the stories that make up my own life.

I also started to write some other things. Things I never thought I’d write. Like right now I’m working on a series of monologues.

I’m learning how to think like a writer. How to be serious about this, as a possible future. How to grow as a writer. I have a long way to go, but I am really loving it so far.

These days

He was from a generation without the luxury to spend a decade of your best years ‘deciding what to do with your life.’

“Growing up is harder these days,” he said. “Because we want you to be happy. Which means you have to figure out who you are, where you’re going, what you want. And there are so many possibilities, sometimes you just wish you didn’t have to figure it out for yourself. That you could inherit your purpose, like a fortune or a curse.”

Wordology

I’ve been listening to Regina Spektor’s Loveology on repeat today.

Porcupine-ology, antler-ology,
Car-ology, bus-ology,
Train-ology, plane-ology,
Mama-ology, papa-ology,
You-ology, me-ology, love-ology,
Kiss-ology, stay-ology, please-ology…

I’m sorry-ology,
Forgive me-ology,
Love-ology, love-ology…

I started thinking: what is the most powerful word in the English language? I mean, surely words have so much power - ask Plato, Ovid, Descartes, Marx. One word can represent so much to so many people. Words are dangerous and words can be our salvation. And words… their millions of different meanings that aren’t defined in a dictionary, that grow with a person and all they absorb from the culture around them… that’s what makes the difference between simply studying and truly understanding a language. That’s what I love about words, their very fluid nature.

How about faith? What does it mean? Religion? Taking chances? Trust? Leap of faith. Blind faith. It’s such a charged word - powerful for being misunderstood as much as understood.

What about please? Please stay, please don’t go, please help. Please.

Love? Surely one of the most loaded words in our vocabulary. We squeal I love you! from excitement to near strangers but hesitate at using the word with a partner. Because it means more then just affection, it means commitment. But that’s not in the dictionary definition at all.

Peace? If you’re living somewhere where war is a constant reality, surely peace is powerful. I mean, Augustus gained control of the entire Roman Empire with the words pax Romana - the Roman peace.

Or is war more powerful? Hate? Fear? Does power come from consequence? How about terrorism? That’s a word our media is happy to throw around in the last couple of decades, completely changing the meaning of words like insurgent and democracy.

Hate is constantly perpetrated by words. The first step to racism, homophobia, sexism and any bigotry is the creation of a word that separates one group from another. Just think about the power behind those words. Can any of them be matched by peace or equality or acceptance?

When I got my first tattoo I chose a word, because, for me, words are eternal. You can’t tire of a word because it’s meaning to you is always changing. Because it represents so much. I can think of at least five different things that the word imagine means to me right now, and a handful of others that it’s meant to me in the past.

I asked for a thesaurus for my birthday one year. I used to pick a word at random and just write about it. In poetry form, usually. Eventually, I would find a way to bring my exploration of the word back to the way I was feeling that day. It wasn’t hard, because it’s all in how you interpret it.

So, I ask you, what do you think is the most powerful word in the English language?

12:56:32

All I’ve got is
12:56.32
and rainbow coloured socks
and shaking hands
and a few words
black and blue and red
Faded jeans and a t-shirt
and goose bumps on my arms
and hair that’s red and brown and blonde
and blue eyes lined in black
An affinity for fiction
and a love for music
and yellow walls
and castles in the clouds
and cat hair on my pillow
A guitar pick in my pocket
and two cents
and all I’ve got is
12:56.32
and letters on the floor

Autumn Storms

Red leaves on burning bushes dot the hillside
Passing through the window in the blink of an eye
A litany of empty thoughts floating by in the clouds
And every time I fail to pin them to the page

Tire tracks line the cracked and dirty roads
A speed that offers no heroes or villains
Simply the endless fight to catch one’s breath
Strapped in facing forward, but looking back

The distance offers little more than mountains
Beautiful and looming in their silent solitude
Painted in shades of red and orange for fall
Unflinching, they send roads the long way ’round

The sun sets and colours the sky to match the trees
A spectacular finale with which to end the show
Without applause or heavy curtain’s fall
It quickly fades itself to shadow’s hue

A second set of stars shine for me alone
Looking up through eyelashes that sparkle
Like tears, they blur the stars and meld to one
As if I’m seeing it all through Van Gogh’s eyes

If I should falter or maybe lose my way
Perhaps take off my shoes and rest for a day
Would the road remain or be washed away
When autumn storms roll through the hills?

I’ve decided that I’m going to start posting some of my old poetry. The ones I liked when I wrote them and don’t hate now. This one actually won me a poetry contest and $75.