RULES: Limit yourself to no more than 5 minutes of writing for each of the four entries suggested below. At minimum it must be a few sentences, maximum a page, for each entry.
Writing 1: Write something about yourself. Do so from any perspective you wish.
Response:
I really like writing. I am frustrated when I look back at the talent I had, and I feel as though I squandered it. When you are given something precious, whether it is a physical item such as a ring, or an intangible item like a talent, it is your responsibility to be a good steward over that gift.
I have not been a good steward.
I did not realize how far I had fallen away until I reviewed some of my older work when writing came naturally and easily. I sat down last night to try to write the first pages of my book, which have played through my mind for years. I can see it crystal clear, as if I was in that place, and I can hear the sounds and smells and feel the warmth of the sun competing with the cool breeze that brushes the face of my character as she runs.
Yet when I commit these thoughts to paper, they do not translate well. It looks jarring and broken, disparate thoughts floating about on a page that only make sense to me (and little enough at that).
In my moment of despair, I went to remind myself again of what actually exists within me, albeit rusty, by reading even more written projects from a life long past. I discovered old works that had fled my memory, and was astounded at the amount of inspiration that would hit me in bursts, a dam breaking and running over me, losing sleep trying to catch each drop with my hands (a futile task, as I know in my present self that looking back, what I allowed others to read was but a fraction of what I had yet in my mind, eager to get it out before it was lost).
I know I can do this again, it just takes practice. Sharpening the sword. I am ready.
Writing 2: Describe a feeling, such as fear, love, sadness, or joy.
Response:
I am choosing fear, because I feel like it influences so many of the others, whether in its presence or in its absence.
Sadness, to me, is something of a mourning over something. It is less than grief, but more than indifference. It does not adequately describe that state of morose apathy where you must disconnect from your reality in order to survive. It does not properly convey that sense of despair, of loss, of futility and the vastness between you and anything in the world that is Other. Fear takes sadness and moves it forward to that next level, where it moves from a recognition that something happened and you mourn the loss of the feeling that has been usurped by it, and launches it to the level of a feeling that may never end, a growing scope that moves outside of yourself and permeates all the other things you value. If I lost this, what if I lose more? What if I lose everything? What if I never get it back? What if it changes me?
Joy, to me, is somewhat of a complex concept that is very often misunderstood for happiness. Happiness is circumstantial; that is, you have it when things are good, and you can lose it when things are bad. Happiness is fleeting, and most often exists as a response to external realities. Joy, however, is something you have regardless of the moment; if you have Joy, you have Joy in your sorrow, in your anger, in your frustration. Joy, to me, is peace that passes all understanding, a knowledge of comfort and support that comes from within. Joy is an absence of fear, because it represents a confidence in something that drives out all fear.
Love, to me, is another very often misunderstood word. It is not a feeling, as the question assumes, it is a verb. Love is an action. It's not something you feel, it's something you do. Perfect love drives out all fear; hence, the only truly perfect love is given from the Father to the Child, because as humans we are anything but perfect. To love something, however, is to inherently gain a fear of losing it (with the exception, again, of the Father, who never leaves or forsakes us). To love rightly, one must give up their shields and safeguards, and make themselves vulnerable in some way. Even if the object of the love does not deserve it (for real love is not given based on merit; I may even suggest that it is taken, with or without the owner's consent, and therefore choice hardly comes into it). If you are exposed and vulnerable, that means a very real fear exists that such a trust could be betrayed. It means a fear of the loss of the beloved. A fear of how that love changes you. Love that does any less is not love, it is something else entirely. It may grow into love, or it may not. I think one of the criteria for this determination is whether or not there is any fear present in the love.
And so, I chose fear.
Writing 3: Write about someone you care for.
Response:
I care for my sister. I care for a great many people, but perhaps the reason I would like to focus in on this one person is because it is not an easy care that is given. For many years there was a tension between us, despite our being twin sisters in a loving supporting household; a tension that was palpable and contagious.
We are females who share a last name and a birthday, but there the similarities end. We work in completely opposite ways on fundamental levels. My inability to understand what drives her, what motivates her, drove a wedge that grew into a chasm that I thought may never be crossed. Today we are grown, and even though that space is smaller, it is by no means gone. I still don't understand many of her thought patterns, the many factors that must go into her decision-making process.
However, where once my cool logic and reason prevented me from getting past this obstacle and to the person herself, circumstances have forced a change of heart. She went through many very hard struggles that no human being should have to experience, and at a pivotal time during this phase, God told me that somehow, if I did not care for her, and love her, she would not make it. That is not to presume that I myself am so great, but perhaps I was one of many that He spoke that wisdom into.
However it happened, I can now say I look on her with an affection, and I care for her and appreciate her. She has a big heart and loves her family, would do anything to protect them, and although she is still very mercurial and passionate, it is easier to take some of her quirks with appreciation rather than exasperation. I am thankful for her, through the easier times and the harder.
Writing 4: Write anything you can think of about the word "write."
Response:
To write. To commit to paper. Or a keyboard/blog window, in this case. There is something so unique and so special about the written word. Music moves you in a way that is hard to put into words; you hear a melody, an instrument, and something inside you shifts, changes. You don't have to analyze it too closely, because just the feeling is enough to change you from who you were a moment before.
Paintings, similarly, spring inspiration in a very organic way. Like music, you do not have to define anything in order to participate (or experience in) it. Subtle things you can't quite identify, such as a brush stroke, a medium, an imperfection, can influence each of us in different ways.
Words...words are powerful. In many ways, if you are being honest with the medium, it is the most vulnerable. You are naked when you write. I would show a hundred people a sketch, whether I loved it or hated it. I would (and do) sing often and loudly, and believe me I'm terrible at it. But I can do these things in front of strangers, and they will know nothing more about me than they did before.
However, give someone a piece of your written art, and now they know things about you. They know what you're saying, and what you're not saying. Or worse, they think they know, and judgment springs forth like an overflowing fountain. Your choice of words, your tone, your opinions, worldview, values, priorities, contempts, passions, all can come out, no matter the subject.
And so I would offer that writing is in many ways more terrifying than other art forms. You are being asked to trust people you may never meet, and trust is a sacred thing, especially to introverts like me.
I am being honest: I don't know if I'm capable of this.
