Why write?!?

 
         There may be several reasons why I’ve decided to “attempt” writing. I suppose one obvious reason is that I enjoy it; it’s a method of self-expression. Of course, I feel that it is vital for all of us to find a way to express our inner thoughts and feelings, each in their own special way. But writing not only allows me to express myself, it also closes the gap between you and myself. Yes! You whom may be reading this or any other thing I’ve written. You see, for me there are two realities: One, which I present myself to the world as society demands it; Two, where I live within myself and all the memories I’ve collected over the years I’ve spent in this world. If I may quote Mark Twain. “Life does not consist mainly, or even largely, of facts and happenings. It consists mainly of the storm of thought that is forever flowing through one's head.” And for me this “storm” started while I as in the Army, stationed at Alabama during 1986-87. And yes, it was a woman. For a short time I knew her and since that time she has been the main inspiration for all that I have written.
 
 
         When I suggested that I enjoy writing, this may have been better viewed as an oxymoron. It is more of a painful passion then enjoyment. Writing short stories and poetry, if you can see fit to call it that, is my mainstay of written expression. In all my works are hidden meanings and secretes to my life. I envelope my emotions and feeling into words which are developed usually through incident or occasion and sometimes through research. All my writings, however, do contain some aspect of an experience I’ve had. I’ve had many experiences to draw from. Lost love, of course. Visiting nine different countries, war, horrible death of my brother, marriage, divorce, and college are just a few prominent affairs that come to mind. All have contributed to my library of sentimentality. I normally absorb a moment of my day that catches my attention into my stories by merging them with some memory. For example, at school I was walking by a statue of the “Pied Piper” and suddenly wondered how it must feel to be frozen in time. This lead to pondering which time in my life, if I could hold that time constant like this statue that I would want to repeatedly live in. This brief emotion is now part of a new story I’m writing. But of course, the story is based upon memories of my never-ending love and loss of the one and only one I’ve truly loved in my life. Sounds rather sappy, right? But if one reads Edgar Allan Poe’s “Alone” (1830), “Lenore” (1831) or “Annabel Lee” (1849) then one will observe that Mr. Poe was a bit sappy as well. And we all know, as accomplished writers, about his impact on literature. And so it goes on. But, admittedly, I face writer’s block on occasion. Usually, all I need to do is pause for a while and those memories tend to flood back to mind, during my stagnant dilemma. And the only escape from bursting is to start writing. So in survival, I have used pen & paper, typewriter, computer or what ever vehicle I could practically accommodate as a means of release. We all have methods to cure the madness. I have times where writing is the only lure from nightmares and paralyzing reflection. In speech I am useless. In looks, well, I’ll forgo that issue. In writing I hope and believe that my chances of success are increasingly realizable. I am neither gifted nor talented but I learn and practice and with each character I become, yet, more proficient. And even if I fail to entice my readers to enjoy my insights, I look forward to another day, another reader, or another time to empress. Complex life? Maybe! Starving artist? Doubt it, but if the sentiment defines the portrayer then I hope this venture saves my soul.
 
 
         And how can one be saved when that one is departed from others whom may obliged to save you? I may be making an assumption when I hold the belief that we all write to make a connection to another. But I refuse to ignore this fundamental assumption. My writings do more for me than simply expose my limited grammar skills to critical eyes. It brings you closer to me. It closes the gap; shortens the distance between us. In essence, we find each other and you provide redemption. I received a review stating about one of my short stories: “Amazing story. It ripped my heart out and made me cry.” Well, for me this meant that I’ve made a connection; I’ve touched this person in some special way. And in that indirect fashion, I’ve reached out of my humble existence and left behind the restricting walls which comprises my confinement and lived, if only briefly, within this persons heart. I’ve often been accused of having a “need to achieve” attitude and that “I work too aggressively for recognition.” I disgustingly disagree that this is my posture. Sure, I admit that I enjoy praise. Don’t you? Yes you do! And you should! But tell a businessman that all he’ll get is “praise” and he’ll submit his resignation on the spot. Praise, in its self, means nothing. How valuable is your dollar if not backed by gold or government? I desperately seek to fill the hearts and minds of those strangers in writing so that I can undermine the definition of “stranger” itself, as we all are if we fail to communicate. If I can be so permitted to quote Martin Luther King, Jr.: “Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter." And what can be more important then joining together as a people upon God’s gift called Earth. And what can be better then encompassing our orbits with communication and vocalization, and to ameliorate with expression rises above all. In a word, I need you. I need you to know me and the means to achieve this, for me anyway, is through writing. Simply knowing that others, of our faith, intake, what has otherwise been poured from the deepest reaches of my heart, gives me a sense of kinship; you become a virtual mate, if you like. Honestly, I never reveal my personal experiences. I am much too private for that. But, instead, I can give to you clues to whom I am. This allows me to find eternity without breaking the rules. And one rule governs my writing ideas more the any other influence. My obsession, my resistance, or if you will my sacrifice has placed me into a realm of thought which makes easy composing the genre and style that I most adore. Heartfelt and heartbreak are the topics I employ almost exclusively. I try my best not to be so distraught that I overwhelm my audience but, indeed, this is my forte and possibly my destiny. I make honorable attempts to provide the reader discernment into ability of human recovery, endurance and survival. But still not disregarding concerns of which I endure continuously in memory of that particular time, which definitely colors my view. And in my eyes, all revolves around that one distinct memory.
 
 
         If you gazed and looked upon a storm and felt awe and belittled in its might, you would have a feeling to develop a good story from. My storm is a wash and ebb of visions, which beat the shores of my mind with each tide of night. We all have our regrets and woes coupled into memories. In my past belongs a modality that made expression, hence writing, abundantly comfortable for my pen. In this aspect, I found an excuse for writing for I wouldn’t have tried in her presence and wouldn’t have felt the need to write. Not, in anyway, do I dismiss authoring. I would have died years ago without this outlet. But I have found it elementary to relate and enhance fiction by injecting her memory into the message I seek to tell. Shall I tell you about her in vivid detail? No, I suppose not out of respect, but without her history I would have never attempt to scribble a thing. She is the cornerstone to all I have to say. I remember her by listening to REO Speed wagon’s “In my Dreams”, Collin Ray’s “The Time Machine” and Creed’s “My Sacrifice”. These three songs describe exactly how I feel and bring forth the motivation, which is the foundation of all that I write. The song “In My Dreams” probably describes my focus more vividly then anything else. It speaks my life for me. I simply move lyric to prose; I write poetry from chorus. I tell story from composition. Love and loss are a very powerful force and its cognition has guided me to this end. I tell you, I would gladly give up any fame or notice enjoyed by any audience to remove the binding that has brought me to you. As you read, hoping you have the tolerance, I am still involved in, yet, another display with her in mind. You see, even though I lost her long ago and our time together was short lived, I recall so much that I obtain a vast inventory of thoughts, feeling and memories which will eventually cripple my hands before exhausting. And as it must be for now, I write and write and will continue to do so whether any is read or not. I’ve not the time enough to assemble my thoughts to paper. My mind accelerates beyond my physical capabilities. So I conjoin my burden to narratives as best I can. Many a late night devoted to her memory only to hide the truth within a fictional work. If I claim a painful passion it would be that she has been written about a many a times and goes on in life unaware of it all. I would have to say that it almost feels like last resorts; wishing she might possibly recognize one piece and know its meaning. I suppose in that sense, I am love struck and lost. Sappy right? Yeah, I am! And I hate it. But without this, I would not have ever written anything, including this paper. I would have never know the adventure of writing at all and that, in itself, would be a loss. For all who write gives the birthright of our future to those who follow after us.
 
 
         My attempt to writing maybe bemused and confounded, I give you that. I mean no harm and hope for no amusement on my behalf. But one cannot deny the value of expression and, therefore, writing as a form of expression. Words bring to us our most valued asset. This asset can be best described as joining of human kind; Viewed as a bonding of heart, mind and soul that will last forever. Our constitution contains only about 96 paragraphs. And it is easy to realize the impact of that simple but powerful and everlasting document. And with this in mind, you must realize that, in this form of communication, you and I and all others have come closer together. I can reach out to you in ways that is not possible in any other form of life. I need to you reach back to me and take notice. How can I do such a thing? We are strangers! And yet, through the miracle of writing comes a multitude of approaches and conveyances available to one and all. And through writing you are no longer a stranger to me. You have enlightened my life and I hope I have yours. And enlightenment comes in many forms. One can be raised up by love and even the loss of love. And the strength of love deserves to be shouted even if it is a mystery and a fading vision. Through my poetry and stories I have been given an au courant. You have given me the privilege of sharing one man’s life that searches the question: Can a man love a woman forever, in heart, soul and mind? I tend to say it can be and will be in me for all time.
 
 
 
Kactus Berry