On Writing

I was reading interviews of writers on a website yesterday and I noticed that once the discussion of their work was done, most of them were asked the same questions. Questions such as: When did you start writing? Where do you get your ideas? and my personal favorite, Why do you write?

While I have never been interviewed (yet), I can feel empathy for these writers. I have been asked the same questions by my friends and family. While they are supportive and encouraging about my writing, they don’t understand my compulsion to write. And that’s exactly what it is, a compulsion.

My clearest memory of my early writing is from Seventh Grade, so I would have been about twelve years old. I remember sitting in math class, my assignment completed, and I wrote a poem while waiting for the rest of the class. I distinctly remember that particular poem. It was about my biological mother, how she had abandoned me, and how I felt about her. I wish I still had that poem, as well as the many others that I penned during my childhood. It would be interesting to see how much my writing has matured, along with myself (if any – LOL).

As for where I get my ideas, well, truthfully, they come from everywhere. As shown in my Blood Red Moon post, sometimes it’s a strange combination of news and a weird looking moon. Other times, it can be old memories from my childhood or current events. Sometimes, a phrase or even a couple of full lines will pop into my head out of nowhere. I have one poem that the first two lines just came to me. I wrote them down and couldn’t come up with anything else to go with them. I periodically check back on these kinds of notes, and one day, about three months later, those two lines came to life on their own and I ended up with a complete poem. It just happens; I have no real control over most of it.

And last, but not least, why do I write? The answer to that is simple. I have to. I could no more quit writing than I could quit breathing. Even if I never shared it with anyone, I would always have a computer full of saved files and carry a notebook around so I could write down anything interesting that popped into my head. Back in 2008 I participated in a poetry challenge. The following is what I came up with, and I think that it speaks for writers around the globe.


She Writes

She reaches out for her pen
Somehow thinking, “It’s a sin”
She’s been told she should be working
But there are words, inside her, lurking

Desperately, she scribbles on
Each mark a battle won
Knowing that a poem complete
Is for her a major feat

She writes and writes all through the night
Not noticing dawn’s first soft light
Reading her thoughts a dozen times
Judging lines and all their rhymes

So very weary, but satisfied
Though not perfect, still she tried
Her mind is quiet, the words now rest
For once again, she wrote her best

Abusive Relationships

To be perfectly clear starting off today, I have never been physically, verbally or emotionally abused in my life. I was very lucky that my Grandad and Ma, especially Ma, were able and willing to take me when my mother abandoned me at six months of age. I grew up in a very stable home with a stay-at-home grannie and an aunt that is only five years older than I am. But, as in every family, there were relatives that weren’t so lucky. Later in life, I had friends who were in bad relationships and couldn’t seem to get out of them. I always wondered why they didn’t just walk away.

Now that I’m older, I’ve actually talked to some of these relatives and friends, and while I can’t completely comprehend the inability to just leave, I can empathize. For some, it has to do with money, while for others, they just simply don’t know anything different. A few were just waiting for the right time or just finally had their fill and have managed to get themselves free.

I’ve received a lot of comments on the following poem, telling me how great it is that I finally escaped. Well, to be honest, I didn’t escape. I simply put the experience of thousands into a first person perspective. This one is for those who have escaped; I salute you. It is also for those who haven’t; I wish you luck and hope for the future.

Cry in the Dark

I sit here in the dark of night
out on the porch, back out of sight.
I see a cat beneath a tree,
he sits there and he stares at me.
Across the street there is a child.
He runs around and acts real wild.
His mother calls for his attention,
screaming words I cannot mention.
And as she gets more profane,
her words become a scream of pain.
I see the child begin to cry,
as he asks “I wonder why” ?
He shuffles towards his house real slow,
already begging, “Daddy, no! “
He looks so sad and so alone,
I cannot take it, I get the phone.
This young child has touched my heart,
and now I must tear his family apart.
I stand here in the shadows now,
and to myself I make a vow.
My children will not know that fear,
their mother's screams they'll never hear.
I'll never strike them out of anger,
and for my love they will not hunger.
I need to go in, it's getting late,
but there's the cops, I think I'll wait.
I watch them take that father to jail,
and know he'll soon be out on bail.
As I step inside I start to weep
then check my children as they sleep.
They'll never know how close they came
because our life was just the same.
They're too young to remember
how we ran, just last December.
I only took what the car would hold
and drove away in the cold.
I left him there passed out from beer
I ran for love, I ran for fear.
My nose was bleeding, my eye was black
I swore to myself I'd never look back.
Now I'm a mother, but not a wife
At least we have a decent life.

On Love and Marriage

I am married now, for the first time, at 43 years of age. John and I were married on Wednesday, February 24th, 2010 at 1:00 p.m... On Monday, we got our rings, just simple, white gold bands. Tuesday, we went downtown and got the marriage license. Then, on Wednesday afternoon we drove across town to a minister with a small chapel in his home. In reality, it was a short, simple ceremony with just my two kids as the witnesses. My son took a few pictures and in less than 45 minutes it was done. Emotionally, it was a huge, life altering occasion.

Having remained single all these years, mostly by choice, I didn't really think about how it might affect me. In my mind, I was only applying a legal aspect to an existing 7 year relationship. However, the closer we got to getting married, the more eager and excited I became. But, the real shocker came while standing there in front of the minister. Listening to the words, not only did I hear the definition of marriage, but I felt it. I had a moment of clarity, where I understood that loving and committing are completely separate and that they don't necessarily go together automatically. And I’ll be darned if I didn’t start crying. With tears running down my face, I repeated my vows, relieved that John still loved me and wanted to marry me, even after having lived with me for so long.

I’ve thought about my reaction a lot during the past week. I realized, that based on most of the relationships I had seen growing up, I had come to think of marriage as a trap: a legal binding that was difficult and expensive to get out of. Now, knowing I love him more than ever and knowing he loves me, I realize that marriage is a promise; a promise to love, a promise to help and a promise to be there. I know that promises do get broken. But if given sincerely, one will try their hardest to keep it before giving up. I also know that I pushed John to his limits by continually putting this marriage off. I regret that, and sincerely apologize. The following poem is for him.

ANY GIVEN NIGHT

On any given night, I can guarantee
That when I come through the door
You’ll be waiting there for me
Whether you are reading, or watching
That TV
I know that you will be there,
My one reality
Our heartfelt love, we both agree
Will always last forever
This truth known, a source of beauty
Never makes it feel like duty
And with these cluttered days
Full of life’s debris
Your love lifts me up
Like a sun warmed sea
On any given night, feel the certainty
Of gentle love returned to you
Multiplied by three
Count on the security
Of our lives together
Knowing that we’re free
In a love of high degree