written, it makes me think that I have something worthy to say and a good way
of saying it. – This scares the crap out of me. – Knock it off.
with them my experience, strength, and hope for a little while.
beautiful, eloquent, articulate. It was like a short story. You speak like a
writer. That was like a TED Talk.”
dream tucked inside my ambitious heart is to be a TED talk person – on what, ver vaist, but I suppose that’s not my business yet.
that’s just beginning, friends and friends of friends. It’s supposed to be supportive,
just evoking some words onto a page, doesn’t have to be Faulkner. But one
suggestion is to bring some writing we’re working on.
do this blog, but other than that, I’m focusing on theater right now.
of being written for me and for those of you that enjoy it. I (sometimes) know it’s not a
“brush-away” thing, but it’s private, still, sort of. It’s not a public venue,
really; it’s not something to read at a writer’s circle, or submit to a
magazine or journal. And I feel really unclear about what kind of venue this, my, kind of writing belongs in.
use the metaphor again of my internal round table (well, it’s rectangular, but
you catch my drift), all of them/us want to act right now, and only
half-heartedly do they/we want to write, in a professional capacity.
don’t have to tackle all my demons or desires at once.
and excitement is breathing.
worthwhile to say and share and give. Something people want to read and be
touched and changed by. Something that gets underneath the armor of separation,
and helps us all to feel a little more vulnerable, aware, to smile & laugh & relate. Yeah, the
fear of that kind of power, and responsibility, is pretty big.