I love writing. To watch words magically appear across the blank screen of a white page is a very enjoyable experience. For a while I wasnt really sure if I loved the craft enough. I remember the passion I had for it when I was younger and the seeds were first sown, and the sprouts of imagination unfurled themselves to push their way up through the hard soil and grit of grammar, and between the cracks of writers block. In those days I feasted on writing as if it were a final meal or some forbidden fruit I had never tasted before. Locked away in the hot, shadowy comfort of my attic room, Id sit hunched for hours over the small keyboard of my older brothers portable grey typewriter, plotting and pecking out the drama of make-believe lives. I think thats what I love most about writing. The fact that I get to fool around with history, that of others as well as my own; that I get to weave it into a pattern of a whole other reality and come up with a garment of my own design. For me, words are too powerful and too precious to be given in complaint. I dont think we really understand how potent and complicated it is to speak and write them. If we did, then we would probably recognize that Hate is too harsh a word to use in reference to diets and exercise and TV shows we dislikeand especially towards people. And that Love is too prized a sentiment to be so casually attached to our favorite foods and movies.
Writing Out Loud is a passionate exploration of the world through various avenues of literary expression. From essays and prose, poetry and journaling. It is an understanding of how ones life is edified and made whole through the act of writing, and its power in helping us make sense of our place on the planet. As the author explains: When I writewhen I captured my thoughts on paperI take them from the realm of my imagination and make them more real. All the incomplete pieces of who I am or imagine myself to be come together in a more coherent shape. In writing I am made whole.
