Since then, words have always come easy to me, whether I'm writing them or speaking them, out they come with very little effort. When I wrote essays for English in high school, my teacher would wonder where my brainstorming notes were or where my rough draft was. In my head I would answer. "You wrote it just like this?" she would ask. Indeed, that's how it always is.
I write because the words won't stay in. If I don't write it down, somewhere, anywhere, a journal, my blog now, on Facebook - I'll go crazy. When it's written I sigh with relief. There. Done.
Now the things I have to write, to say to the world, get recorded monthly in a column in our denominational magazine. My work running a large social services facility, a 169 bed residential program for The Salvation Army, keeps me busy. However, it also let's me see into a world rich with metaphor and stories begging to be told.
I think I'm fortunate that I don't have to make a living at writing these days, but I long for a time
when I can sit and write as much as I want. It's my writing dream. Writing, knitting, reading - and perhaps not exactly in that order.