The day began earlier than usual. Droopy eyed and lethargic I spooned coconut oil, more like the consistency of lard truth be told, into my mouth then shuffled into my art room. Taking up my pen and journal I thought to chronicle my thoughts, log my day while I did oil pulling. Few words fell on the page but my mind soared.
It is all there, just seemingly reluctant to be brought into print. I am not alone.
One sister thinks that to write things down incriminates you. The other is just rather silent with the exception of cryptic references to the past. How does one who wants to tell stories adjust to this?
First you go spit out the oil and brush your teeth. Then you grab a strong cup of coffee and cozy up to your pen and journal or pc and start spilling words whether they make sense or not. Write for 10 minutes or 3 pages. Really makes no difference, the free writing hopefully leads to something that has the potential to grow into a story or maybe just a cautionary tale.
Sometimes you can change your story which changes your life or just find yourself standing at the corner of bitter and sweet. Other things are beyond words. Dreams come and go. But spilling the beans, long kept family secrets, that seems to be taboo. Your own daring and inner excavation makes people uncomfortable and at times outraged.
I could continue on a long quiet journey but there are characters, viewpoints and a wild fire long waiting to have a voice.
How to be the creative who gives voice, ignites the senses and breathes new life into an old story is like walking on cobblestones in stilettos.