I started it on a whim, on a morning I woke with too much noise in my head.
I started writing my story as a journal entry, seeking to figure out what I was thinking; what I was feeling; what I wanted. But the more I wrote, the more I remembered how much I love writing.
After a bit of being lost in my story I found myself wondering why I never finish a piece through to its ending. I have more journals, and notebooks, full of beginnings of things than I can count.
I think my problem lies within my mantra, of sorts, that usually sparks the writing...
"I write to quiet the voices in my head, I speak to makes sense of the written."
Once the voices are quieted, I move on. I guess I never really thought about seeing one through to its ending, never felt particularly inclined to revisit what I had written.
I started writing my story as a journal entry, seeking to figure out what I was thinking; what I was feeling; what I wanted. But the more I wrote, the more I remembered how much I love writing.
After a bit of being lost in my story I found myself wondering why I never finish a piece through to its ending. I have more journals, and notebooks, full of beginnings of things than I can count.
I think my problem lies within my mantra, of sorts, that usually sparks the writing...
"I write to quiet the voices in my head, I speak to makes sense of the written."
Once the voices are quieted, I move on. I guess I never really thought about seeing one through to its ending, never felt particularly inclined to revisit what I had written.
This time is different. This time I am taking my story to its ending; if only I could decide where that ending will be.
No comments:
Post a Comment