I have been working on my personal website, and have now moved my blog to my site. The content is the same…so please visit me at my new home.
After reading Sharon’s post on the Google searches that lead to her blog, I thought it would be funny to post some of mine. Although mine lack the obvious humor that was apparent in Sharon’s, they are equally odd.
inside the leo mind (inside the leo mind? can anyone explain this?)
leo girls (looking for a specific type are ya?)
my girls (I put this in the search bar and came up with some interesting hits)
Cousin thoughts (which cousin? and what thoughts?)
With depth, and eternal light
the sorrow pours over me.
Who can pull away this veil
that no longer lets me see?
The pefect heal, eyes closed
all and all, life is the fee.
The world revolves around writing. Isn’t it amazing? Talented artists can say what they want, but ultimately what sells is the writing.
An actor reads dialogue. A writer provided the dialogue.
Television or movie producers envision the scenes on a script. A screenwriter wrote the script.
A singer belts out lyrics. I don’t think I have to elaborate.
Books, Magazines, greeting cards, advertisements, speeches, declarations, announcements…the list can go on forever.
The bottom line. Writing is part of life.
It communicates to us. It tells us the morning news, and what the weather will be like this afternoon.
It announces a new product, or reinvents an old one. It introduces us to history, or gives us a glimpse of the future.
It teaches proper grammar, algebra and ethics.
It promotes an ideal, or bashes an opinion. It expresses love, hate, passion, disinterest, indignation, praise, scorn, life and death.
I don’t know why I’m raving about this. I think because I just realized what an important job we have.
And I say we very loosely. Only a selected few get to write for the world to read.
But if deep down inside, you cherish every word. If in the pits of your soul, you clamor for a pen and paper (or a keyboard in our day and age) to truly express yourself.
If the only way you know to tell everyone what you think, how you feel, what you imagine is through words, then most likely you’re a writer.
And as writers, we need to continue writing. In a society where it seems that words get lost in the media, I think it’s important to still see the greatness of the written word.
Lets instill it in our children. Let them love reading, and they’ll come to appreciate writing.
My daughter goes to bed with a book clutched under her arm. It warms me to know that she loves her books, and never will there be no time for reading in our home. I think I’ve started a tradition.
Hopefully from my household will stream a slew of readers.
And maybe a few writers.
My daughter comes to me with a pen and asks for paper.
Can I write too daddy? She asks. I can only smile as I hand over the paper.
Time for writing….
All the time in the world.
I long for blush wines
and lush countryside
For warm humid skies
and the taste of salty skin.
I long for dusted roads
with yellow horizons
For summer dresses
and rowdy walk besides.
I long for fresh coffee beans
and four in the afternoon tea.
For quiet nights of reflection
and loving in the early morning.
For sweet and subtle days
For peace and desire to savor.
I long for special times,
the rich with life rhymes,
for those sought after quiet times.
As I struggled to keep myself from falling, the edge of the mattress cut off the circulation to my legs. The fan spun mercilessly above me, blowing cold air against my uncovered back. What is going on? As I pull on the cover, I feel the tug back, and a small elbow crushes the back of my neck.
I lift my head and look around, only to be met by hair. Lots of hair. I immediately realize what has happened. I try to push her towards her mother, but she squirms closer to my side.
My daughter. Crawled into bed without waking us, and now fights for her spot in between us. I dread this, it causes me to lose sleep. I rise to lift her up and carry her back to bed. Its where she needs to be, its her own place. She was invading mine. Before I do, I momentarily stroke her hair, which covers her face. She smiles in her dreams and places her tiny fists under her chin. As I pull her close, I can only smile. I used to do it, and I’m sure my wife did as well. I arrange the covers around her shoulders and fold my pillow in half.
She feels safe with us. Warm with us. And for now, that’s enough for me…
I’ve been working with a web design company for my personal website, and I was given the task yesterday of finding a quote that could go on the site. I found one I liked by Ray Bradbury, coincidentally one I had read and studied before in school. While on my search though, I did come across this quote from Stephen King.
It’s hard for me to believe that people who read very little – or not at all in some cases – should presume to write and expect people to like what they have written. Can I be blunt on this subject? If you don’t have time to read, you don’t have the time – or the tools – to write. Simple as that.
I was blown away. I couldn’t agree with that more. I’ve always told everyone that my desire to write has come from all of the books I have read. The hundreds and hundreds over time. I once met a suppoused writer who told me he didn’t enjoy reading, he didn’t have time for it. Needless to say it was evident in his writing. Reading is our fuel. It’s what sparks that inspiration, that idea we must put down on paper. I long for my favorite authors to put out new books, and still go searching the bookstores for new authors when they’re not. I enjoy reading, I could say, even more than writing. To me reading is extremely important.
It’s the reason writers write, to be read.