Be Open (More About Me) — A. Redwood
The Writer’s Itch
Wouldn’t it be extraordinary to live a life as simple as a tree’s? You could take in the splendor of your world without a care, your leaves and brown bark littered with lives of every kind. If only I could be a tree. Yet, here I stand, merely a human, attempting to comprehend the ins and outs of a world I can barely fathom. In my angst, for some reason or another, my mortal eyes have come to find the written word as the most glorious form of serenity, categorized as my favorite medium of communication.
At the age of two years old, I picked up my first book, and since then, my eyes haven’t stopped roving left to right to left, devouring every form of writing possible. Whether it be through reading or writing or seeing the page turned to the silver screen, I fell in love with words of every caliber. In lyric, or poem, or slogan form, my obsession merely grew with time. Without a thought, I would find myself writing purely for the sake of it, enveloping any word that crossed my vision.
Now I’m a bit older and a lot wiser than I was at two years old, allotting my life to honing the timely craft of inscription. Blogging proves to be my first attempt at sharing my chosen hobby with the public. In turn, it’s helped me tremendously, not only in the improvement of my skills but also in finding the most fruitful ways to utilize my writing for the greater good.
Novel writing serves to be another outlet for my earthly frustrations and is one of my treasured pastimes. Between short stories and epic sagas, whenever my fingers find themselves blending adjectives, nouns, verbs, and punctuation to create entire worlds, states of minds, and ridges through time, I’m in complete bliss. The powerful energy felt from reading grows exponentially stronger while I’m creating. Whether it’s works meant to be published or purely for my gaze, when the vocabulary words habitually bouncing between my skull ribbon perfectly onto the page, I’m at peace.
Positively, I’m sure my fellow writers of the universe can relate. It’s almost as if the written word is a compulsory scratch that needs itching. So here I am, palms stretched outwards while my agile fingers move in a blur, taking my optimal hobby and aiming to prop it in a perfect place. If all goes well, I might be able to change the world around me with each pen placed between my fingertips.
Even if, in the end, my attempts at inscription do nothing more than aid myself, I can live in harmony with the time I’ve spent putting words to the page. It’s my peace, it’s the medium where I thrive, and it’s the best way to throw my anxiety away for moments at a time. Since I can’t live a life as simple as the gigantic, greening trees, I’ve settled to write until I’m no longer living with the itch in my fingers.
Be Open Says;
Writers! Let’s be open!
Writers should take this!