Inside out, I show you my heart beating beating beating. I show you how strong and smooth my bones are, how heavy and substantial my skeleton makes me. I show you the blood that races fast and hot through tough and capable veins. I am real. I say to you, “This is who I am. Read me.” I divulge secret bits and pieces in the characters of my stories and pitiful poetry, and I blatantly reveal myself as myself in essay.
Did you know that every word, sentence, paragraph, page that I craft is for you, Dear Ones? Did you know that the words I create are in the hope you will read me, and in reading me, get to know me, and in knowing me, maybe you will love me? Writers can be needy, and writers can be selfish, and writers can be self-indulgent, but how this writer is can’t be measured by how much I sit alone, for it is only through you and your reaction to my words that I measure my worth. Perhaps you do not want such a heavy burden, but I place it on your shoulders anyway, again and again.
If you meet my outside shell, you may not recognize me from my words. I will stand back in a corner of the room and watch you, listen to you, gauge you, figure you out, peel back your skin and skull and see how you are made, use you as fodder for my work. If you approach me for conversation, I become fidgety.
You say, “I am conversing with you, human to human, eye to eye.” You are close enough to feel your words fall upon my face.
I shift from foot to foot. I stammer, “Um, I see. Yes, um.” I attach the “ums” because I am stalling, tensing, panicking. My face is warm. In my terror, words begin to erupt from the hollows of my belly, and I try to keep them down. Words back up against each other, filling my throat—all the things I think about, read about, wonder about, the things I see, the things I touch, all the things I don’t even know I’ve stored away—perhaps for some piece of writing, perhaps accidentally, perhaps because I am bored. My tongue begins to taste the words as they fill my mouth.
It is all for you that I write.
all photos are Kat Magendies except for the istock photo of magical book. This post was taken from archives.
20 comments:
Touching and heartfelt. And that's exactly what I think it should be. <3
Love that last picture. So sweet.
This is so true and so real. And, all these things that sit in our guts come out stronger for all the time they've waited to be written.
Beautiful! I love your words and where they come from. You have a beautiful soul that comes through in all you do, in what you write and how you live your life. I am really thankful to know you. XX
Loved this! Thank you for sharing a little more of you:))
Excellent! And, oh my, the photos. All are excellent but the second takes is amazing. I believe our eye for photos, how we see the world, also is another window revealing who we are.
Awesome post and beautifully written!
I like that first picture. nice.
The writer also carries a burden. To hear, see, feel, taste and experience things very deeply - and then to expose those things to their readers. You carry it very well. Oh and gotta say - great pictures! :) Especially the first one.
I read Secret Graces again yesterday. Once I start into your stories I cannot put them down. They are so beautifully written..... you are like a master word weaver that weaves life lessons into stories of day to day survival. To all the Dylans of the world, Bill Clinton, Tiger Woods and now Arnold Schwarzenegger, you just don't get it, do you? Thank goodness there are Barrys and Garrys who do get it!!! Thank you so much Kat. I'm sending love. xoxo
neat post - and reminds me of something several of my followers at my several blogs have said to me: "but tell us more about 'you'" - my response is that my words - each and every one of them comes from my heart - they bare my soul - leave me naked before the masses - the speak my deepest most intimate thoughts - my words give my all - to all -
in any event, very neat post, lady! and thanks for sharing! ;)
A beautiful post. Thank you for sharing and writing for us to enjoy. I love the vision I have of you sitting in your hills, while I sit in mine.
A gorgeous, rich, and honest post. As I am currently wrapped-up and fully immersed in reading "Tender Graces", I am not as much surprised by this deeply exposed offering of self, as I am in awe. Your writing is at once miraculous as it is delicious. Such a gift you have, and how thrilled I am to have found the package,torn open the pretty wrapping, and found the most amazing treasure inside ;-)
And I'm certainly glad that you took the time to write this one. You have nailed it.
Wow, you do all that for me? :) Lovely words, thoughts and heart. A writer through and through!
Thank you, it's very appreciated on the receiving end.
I did not know writers go through all that dilemma and stressful thoughts. thank you for going the extra mile for us, your readers. I loved Tender Graces!!
Beautifully written, utterly fascinating.
It's not the same for me.
For me? You are writing for me? I love this post with its insight and warmth. And I have loved each of your books. My reaction to your words? Wonderfully interesting and entertaining. I often have many books in process at any given time, but I have read each of yours without a break. Yep, they draw me that deeply into the story and I don't want to read anything else until I have finished yours. And that doesn't happen with a lot of books.
This is a fascinating insight into they whys of your writing. It's a bit the same for me, though not entirely. I am no talker, the only way I can communicate with any effectiveness is to write it down, and take my time.
Your photographs are as wonderful as your words today.
I humbly accept your offering, not a burden, of reading you. I love the ending -- "My tongue begins to taste the words as they fill my mouth." You should make that into a poem. Peace.
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