I’ve been a writer since I was about 10 years old, when my Dad bought me my first journal. It was a diary with a lock that was based on Jane Austin’s book Pride and Prejudice. I still have that journal. It took me about three years to fill it up, and I’ve keep a journal ever since. Not daily, by any means. I usually only write in my journal when I have significant life happenings that I want to remember.
Oddly though, as I look back through my journals there were many times that I clearly recall which I did not write about. Most of those times were some of the most difficult and sad times, like September 11, 2001. It is as if somehow psychologically I didn’t want to accept the truth about what happened. I didn’t want the tragedy to be reality. For me, writing seems to make life real. Maybe it is the way I learn best. Seeing it. Writing it. Knowing that it happened and confirming the details through my own records.
Once I learned that I wasn’t automatically writing about the tragedies and difficult things I have faced in life, I have made a conscious effort to attempt to do so. Still, I find myself in a place of emotional denial, unable to express myself verbally, or even through writing—my comfort zone. Like when my little brother was sentenced to 10 years in prison earlier this year.
Writing brings a sense of healing to me. It is the most effective way I have found to communicate. Too often when I try to express my feelings verbally, I am misunderstood. I have too much emotion in my voice. I’m too passionate. I come off too harshly as if I’m angry. The feedback I get from verbalizing myself hasn’t been the greatest. I get a lot of positive feedback from writing.
But in reality, writing is no different than talking, I suppose. The reader is the one that chooses what tone of voice to read the message in. The reader has full control of their interpretation of what I have written, and are free to judge me on grammar, or morally, or however else they may choose to judge. But that’s what life and freedom are all about.
We get to choose our own interpretation of the world and others around us. Freedom of speech. Freedom of the press. Freedom to write and to publish the reality of our lives, as well as the healing and the peace and the hope we have found. Welcome to my blog, where I will attempt to share with you my journey into writing and publishing. And in the meantime, maybe you will come to know me a bit as well.