Yes, I was a bookworm. As a child, I read constantly, and rode my bike for miles to get a fresh stack from the library every week. It was easy for me to memorize things, so I was thrilled when I got a set of encyclopedias, the ones you got from the grocery store for buying things and filling up books of stamps.
I began to memorize it right away. The result of this surprised me. People began to view me as being a problem. I had too much energy, too many questions...I made up stories!
In fifth grade, I had read every book in the children's section, and had to be allowed to go upstairs where the main library was. I was surely the odd one, there. Not allowed to go into the certain section not considered suitable for my age group! I didn't caer about that. I wante dmore pictures of far away places, more facts about language.
Bigger and heavier, the books were far more absorbing, making me think. I wanted that.
I was the one who you could yell right at and I wouldn't even look up, since I didn't hear you. Lost in the world of books, I kept my secrets. I didn't have to tell anyone what I was thinking or feeling. In fact, I didn't even have to feel it myself. I lived through stories, and then through facts. I carried the huge dictionary I had been given to school, and spent my lunch hours studying to win the spelling bee. It wasn't easy, since I had a rival who was as driven as I was. We went head to head every week.
"Mississippi", "Antidisestablishmentarianism"...one false step and it was all over.
It was comforting to dive into the sea of words, look up their origins, put them together, take them apart. They came from other languages that went before, other ways of thinking, other civilizations...time to read some history!
I was the really odd bird who thought that diagramming sentences was fun. Words, what a great world...far from where most of the people lived.
Words became my trusted refuge...It was part of the journey that took me through a truly tormented time, as I found that language gave me a refuge from the harsh events of my daily life. I kept that love alive, even through wrapping it in silence. In short, I earned to clam up!
For me, it was a time when expressing myself could be dangerous. My home life was filled with unpredictable violence and abuse, and there were very good reasons to keep silent. Besides that, there were some bullies in the area, and I was one of their targets. Sometimes just getting to and from school was enough!
I still kept learning everything I could about language. It turned out I was good at learning foreign languages, too, so I got enrolled in the first pilot program for American students to learn Russian during the 1960s. After we moved to a different state, I took some French, then later Spanish, and German. As an adult, I learned to speak Indonesian. Language is the portrait of the soul. Each language is a unique expression of the culture and the people who formed it, who use it.
I have a collection of tiny dictionaries and phrase books that could take me to many countries, with a basic knowledge of how to speak. I could indeed go far, far away (Not likely to get as far as Saturn, though) and still understand and make myself understood.
Yes, fascinating is the word. I hid in it. Now I am coming out to speak and write it. It's time to get the message out.
And I want to help you do that, too.
Call me obsessed, but the picture to the left reminds me so much of what writing is like.
To start out, all the ideas are right there, ready to be expressed, and what I want to say seems very clear. The simple truth is ready to just flow onto the page. elegance, perfection, satisfaction.
And some days, it is. Everything just flows, and I am into the rhythm, and before I know it I have learned something new just by thinking about my topic. Deeper insights come and say their piece.
Or, I have been looking up references, listening to music to get the juices going, and so on. It's all a lovely picture, full of color, texture, and meaning. Getting to the other side seems very simple and easy.
But sometimes, it's not like that at all. There is pressure of some kind, some type of irritation is present and my inspiration is off on a quick vacation. It's like all of a sudden, realizing I am going to have to WALK to the other side of the canyon, not fly.
I call this "the aggravation moment". It's at that point that the thought creeps in, "Why the H word did I think this was a good idea?"
The creative process is full of this kind of stuff. Just when everything seems completely impossible, I get a tap on the shoulder that tells me to keep going. Or, again, it all seems to be lined up just right, and then something happens that changes the whole conversation. The way I thought was good for organizing turns out to be not at all what was needed. My ideas have already been expressed so many times, why would anyone want to hear what I have to say? and so on.
Then come the excuses. Then the lack of enthusiasm becomes toxic. Then guilt sets in. UGH. This is not a pretty picture.
Why am I bringing this up? Because it's real. Getting stuck and having a bad time with your own dream is part of what happens when you make the decision to express yourself. If you think about it, this happens no matter what you are doing in any creative activity.
But you know what? It's worth it!
Being an artist, writer, and creative person is worth doing whatever it takes.
My life is so much better because I took the chance.
When I just go ahead and write anyway, whether or not I like the way I feel, I am taking action on my dreams.
And without taking action, the dreams remain only dreams, with no chance of becoming reality. Here's the thing...I'm not willing to let my dreams fizzle away because I wasn't ready to go through some hard stuff. Every bit of that hard stuff has value, has meaning.
So, if you have a dream, a deep desire to do things that will enrich your world, if you want to express yourself to the fullest, go ahead and step into your dream. Don't just look at it. Breathe it in, become it. Live it.
Take action!
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