In the beginning were words...
Life began when I could understand words. My days and sense of self were gauged good or bad, by the words (and emotion) directed at me. Unfortunately these were mostly ugly, bitter and negative labels which stuck, and left me bereft of an authentic self.
Words hurt me deeply and indelibly; weapons of destruction more powerful than any gun. After this 'second abandonment' I was alone, small and very frightened. I guess I shut down to survive, and an automaton of myself somehow lived through it.
Around age 5 or 6, words excited me and became my sanctuary; I learned the gift of reading! My first reading book was called "A moon-Light Night" and I read it over and over. Even when I knew it verbatim, I still got joy from the story.
As a young child I never understood why I knew the meaning of a difficult word instinctively; my hand would go up in class whenever our English teacher put forth a new word. I was (and still am) moved to deep emotion by books and impressionable; (which has had its ups and downs)!
The books I read nourished me and I became the dreamer, believing in magic and salvation, ever fearful of the "Evil Witch" (who happened to be my foster-parent). To this day, I remember perfectly, words from books and songs that transported me into a loving world where anything was possible.
Around the age of 13 I began writing stories and wrote a school play and have written ever since. I was either born a storyteller, or was led to writing so I could find out more about love, life and ultimately myself.
Now, being able to retell my experiences not only helps me relive them, but keeps them solidified forever. A writer, leaves their essence etched in every word; regardless of the material. It is an act of love and reverence for words; for the way they can be sculpted to evoke all range of emotions, or impart knowledge, facilitate understanding and bring clarity.
In the weaving of words, which oftentimes spew forth unbidden ~ writers are able to grasp hold of a concept and shape a piece of work which may stay in our heart and mind forever ~ in this way, we both give and receive.
I don't always get the 'weaving' exactly right, but when I do, there is such a sense of satisfaction and joy. I then read over and wonder where it came from! I believe the ability to use words powerfully and artfully comes from something outside of ourselves; a concept followed by a rush of words which we then hone and refine.
When I get an idea, I have to purge the urgency ; get it out, write it down and then edit or add without ruining the piece.
As small child I learned pain and rejection through bitter words directed at me, but also fairytale books where I could escape reality. Now that I understand their power, I hope my words provoke, evoke, amuse, inform or sooth.
More by this Author
The eyes are the windows to the soul. A poem written for a loved one.
Rag and Bone Men were commonplace when I grew up in UK. This is a nostalgic look at those things we took for granted, but which are no longer a part of our society.
A shore excursion day in Jamaica tubing down the Dunn's River Falls ~ fun for the whole family.