A writer that can create more than just one emotion, or image of the heart.
Look what love has done to me
I am not who I used to be
Everything is changing, now we’ll never be the same
Look at what love has done to us
Will we ever learn to trust
We’re running out of time, there’s so little time
Baby look what love has done to me
Patty Smyth – Look what has Done
It’s past midnight and I lay in my bed listening to the quiet silence around me. The fan makes a whirring sound and if I strain my ears I hear the sound of a siren in the distance. I always wonder who they are going to rescue.
As tired as I am, one would think that sleep comes easy. On most days it does and on other days I could lay for hours with no sleep. I could count sheep or cows or horses backward or forward yet…
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Writers write in order to not drown in the emotion of it all.
I wrote this earlier on someone else’s blog post. I didn’t realize how true it was when I thought of my own writing. An epiphany happened in that moment. When I am strangling those around me with my overflow, I am not writing.
When I am struggling to breathe in my own neurosis, I am not writing. When I write, as this blog has helped me to commit, I can cease the whispers of insecurity in my own head. I feel more grounded and centered in the world around me. I am me. My thoughts bleed onto the page either in ink or digital format, and I can smile without wondering who wants to steal my smile and make me cry.
Singing along with my favorite artists may appease me, like a band aid or a tourniquet on this river of emotion that resides in my soul, but writing creates new streams to redirect the pressure of the rising tide. Teaching can only take me so far, the love of the written word and expressing oneself is so much more. I release what would normally create an overwrought emotional mess. My memories, emotions, creations, and developments on the page ease a base emotional/biological need inside of me.
So bloggers, I ask and beg, come see my blog. It is but a tiny, plain brown sparrow lost in this exotic jungle of rare and wondrous, iridescent birds. I need feedback, comments, likes, and more. Validation and criticism are welcome. I hunger to become a better writer.
This person was the person who helped me with being an introvert in the midst of a middle school mine field. Mrs. Rodriguez had a mega-watt smile and piled up bleached out blonde hair. Her cherry red lips would often express an entire range of emotions within one class period, and watching her read poetry was like viewing the ever-changing tide of the ocean.
Her spindly hands were always shifting the breeze that came in through the window, as she gestured the events in the story or her outrage at a character that did the unexpected or dishonorable action. The one thing that stands out more than fifteen years after she graced my timid mind with her presence, is the way she sneezed. My God, this woman sounded like a mac truck driver that slammed the door on her adenoids. AAAHHH-CHOOOOOO with a slight whistle at the end, she would fix her hair and wait for one of us to say “bless you”. Her long graceful index finger would push up her tortoise shell glasses up her thin nose bridge, and she would smirk silently with those scarlet lips, and wait.
Allergy season was a jumble of nerves for all the little seventh graders who took English class with her. Her kind nature and expressive demeanor endeared her to me. It helped that she was the epitome of English Teacher fashion at that time, pencil skirt and blouses in silk with cravats.
She would walk with grace between our rows of desks as she checked our work, and the soft click-click of her low sensible heels on the wood floor soothed me. Her entire classroom soothed me, and thus began my love of literature. I was not the student who clicked with the loud coaches, ex-cheerleader style women, fashion divas, or strict dictators of science or math. I waited with unshed tears, from the atmospheres of those other scary subjects and teachers, and smiled instantly when I walked in and she sneezed at the chalk dust.
Mrs. Rodriguez helped me build my own self-worth and character. I blossomed in English and became more social, I even joined the UIL event she sponsored, Literary Criticism.