The inner workings of a troubled mind.

Charles Peguy quote.

                      “A word is not the same with one writer as with another. One tears it from his guts. The other pulls it out of his overcoat pocket.” ~Charles Peguy


  I don't think I have ever been able to pull a word out with ease. I fumble when I speak, always trying to find the right words to say so my meaning is clear. When I sit down and write; I mean really get into it, I gush. Words pour out with ease on the good days. Some times they drip, drip, drip, slowly, but they come. I often wonder if I am the only one struggling to get something down that's not crap. I sometimes wonder if I am wasting my time. Then, as my pen is scribbling, or my fingers typing, I lose myself; and I am no longer worried or anxious.
I am in my world. Telling my story, my way. The only way. I don't care if I am the only person who'll ever read it, or if anyone likes it at all. I have something to say; a story to tell. My words emerge to the surface, then, burst onto the page, while my weary fingers struggle to catch up.  I can't help but smile when it's all over.     

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                  Lana