I was thinking tonight. I know, that could be dangerous, but I digress. The thought occurred to me that I am young, young to this writing thing, new and untested. I have yet to find my corner, my slot, my cubby. What pictures will I hang on the walls? Will I put the lamp on the desk, or on the filing cabinet? Speaking of the file cabinet will I fill it with work that I am proud of or will it be where I through the dung from the squirrely recesses of my mind?
This line of thinking is kind of daunting; the carpet of my life is frayed and tattered. I walk hard, and for a long time my walking was only in circles. One thing I am coming to understand is that the decorations are just that, decorations, the writing will be me. Mine. People may share the joys and pain I feel while writing, but they are reading, they are not in my head while I am speaking with my fingers.
Reading is a huge part of my life. Books have filled the shelves of my life; in my file cabinet other author’s works are stored. I have always felt close to the authors that I read, as if I was seeing into their soul’s window. Words streaming across the page, guiding me, challenging me, taking me to worlds that never were, or never will be again. But I will never know what was going on in the head guiding the fingers making the words that made my world worth living. I am grateful for what has been shared, that small part of the bare soul.
With the keys of this board I have been given the keys to the kingdom. I get to decide what door the keys open, and while daunting, it feels…it feels.
Chris McQueeney 6/1/2011