My inner voice has always been that of
a narrator. Much like Will Ferrell in Stranger Than Fiction, I often
lose focus of what I'm doing and find myself listening to a story no
one else hears. Sometimes fictional, sometimes a retelling of past
experiences and sometimes a straight narration of the present. This
inner voice has always compelled me to write. At an early age I
didn't understand grammar rules, or any rules for that matter. I
found English class discouraging, because the teacher was focused on
my spelling and punctuation and not the voice I was trying to
develop.
In high school journaling was an outlet
for not feeling understood and I would often read pieces to my best
friends. I was always told that my writing sounded just like the way
I told stories. I am a story teller by nature and sometimes get lost
in the details.
I recently attended a writers
conference and was told by one of my favorite writers to JUST WRITE,
everyday, without excuse. I don't believe my stories will heal the
world or inspire the masses but there was a time that they healed me.
Going through graduate school in social work dredges up a lot of
history and I need a new outlet. Therapy at the university and this
blog are to be my salvation. Or so I keep telling myself. Red wine
doesn't hurt either, or the fact that I have positioned myself in
southern California for the next three years.
I have no decided if I should make this
blog public or not, but for now it is my space. Not myspace....I will
not post any bathroom selfies, I promise.
A toast to my first and possibly last
blog.
By the way if you think I write like a
child and go on too many tangents, keep that shit to yourself.
I don't need youtube-esk criticism. This
is therapy damn it.
