In previous posts such as “Finding the ‘thing’ and coaxing the flames…” I explain that I have found a joy in writing, a joy that had long been abandoned for a myriad of reasons. I acknowledged that were some physical barriers and some mental, but I was trying to work out whether it was my ‘thing’ and I was coaxing the flames of a remembered passion.
Many years ago I wrote a poem for a dear friend on her wedding (Hello friend 👋🏾). The following birthday she bought me a book and pen, encouraging me to write. I had shared with her how I have ideas buzzing in my head at night (which if you have read previous blogs you will know I have labelled as my “squiggling” thoughts), and she suggested I keep the book and pen next to my bed to capture them. I gave myself a million excuses not to use that book: I am too busy. People need me. The housework needs doing. I am too tired. No-one will want to read my rubbish writing – “I am not worthy.” I think I penned a poem late one night, but other than that it stood empty and unused. The squiggling thoughts still came in the dark. Like that annoying mosquito that you can only hear when the lights are off, ideas for stories or poems would keep me awake. For years I have batted them away, but now I have discovered the joy of writing for writing’s sake.
Often I find I write because of a memory, to explore issues related to my identity, or because I want to raise my quiet voice in a noisy world. Attached to this page however will be posts that are just written for the joy of writing. In the post “Finding the ‘thing’ and coaxing the flames…” I share a particular memory:
“I remember attending a party moons ago, where we asked to write a message on a small, brown parcel-label. The label was attached to a helium balloon that was released into the wide blue sky to find it’s place amongst the cotton-wool clouds before descending to earth perhaps for someone, somewhere to discover. At the moment, that is all my writing is for. I write and release it into the ether.”
After many years of ignoring them and batting them away, the posts attached are as a result of my current night-time squiggles. I have at last given that little girl with the pigtails permission to write what she wants, when she wants, and release her squiggles into the ether…