I'm writing this on a computer, which has been tucked discreetly in a corner antique desk. My husband and I have escaped for the weekend in an opulent Victorian Bed & Breakfast in Asheville, NC (the kind you can only afford after you become an empty nester). As the sun goes down, shadows of light dance off the gilt framed oil paintings hanging on the walls.
Daylight lingers in that twilight period where life begins to quiet down. While hubby relaxes on the sofa in front of a fire, with TV remote in hand, I can't resist the call to write. But why now? Why blog when I'm on a getaway weekend?
I could say that just being in Asheville restores my spirit and opens up my soul. My inner being feels at home here. My senses feel alive. Against this beautiful backdrop, my creative self yearns to have a say. And honestly, I don't recall ever writing in such a sinfully elegant place before.
Forgive my preamble, unnecessary in the strictest sense. It allows me to enjoy capturing this moment in time.
What I must share with you - an excerpt from Julia Cameron's newest book, Floor Sample. As I always find with Julia's writing - her words ripple across my senses before landing smack in my soul. Maybe her words will lead you to understand why you write. Enjoy.
Why We Write, by Julia Cameron
There are many things which resist naming,
And that is why we write.
We write because language is slippery,
And the truth is.
We write because
The light we have to see by
Is always shifting
Never forget that writers are prophets.
We speak in tongues.
We are for each other a believing mirror.
Our words make us visible.
Our listening makes us heard.
Never forget that writers are soldiers.
Our writing is the long march,
The walk into time.
Each word is a drum.
We sound it across great distances,
Reaching one another and ourselves.
Every poem is a day's march.
A celebration more necessary than water or wine.
Every poem is a drink of blood.
Never forget that writing is an act of courage -
Not on the days when it is simple and we discount it.
Not on the days when it is hard and we write like sand.
Our words are torches.
We pass them hand to hand
And mouth to mouth
Like a burning kiss.
Never forget to say thank you.
Every syllable is a grace.
I'll end on this distinction: I don't "blog." I write. And sometimes I use the blog medium to write. Why do you write?