Sometimes I'm A Writer

You might’ve heard – sometimes I’m a writer. When I have the guts, I tell a story in the written word. When I have the strength: I tell the truth. I process differently. You might say the night was nice. I say it was pregnant with the smell of wood burning- the sounds of a happy throng gathered round an outdoor game- the sight of truth walking by, beer in hand, pausing to stop and touch you. You say it in one word. I say it in thirty- four; a blessing and a curse. But my soul mate said keep writing.



I love words. I spend an inordinate amount of time studying them. Its part of my job but it’s also my love. Words, like tone, are loaded. Their differences allow for impact. To glance is not the same as to look and to see is different than to view. You can call something beautiful or you can say it’s pulchritudinous. One is general and one is exact but both are a matter of opinion really, since beauty is a matter of perspective – which is not the same as, but similar to, to see - only broader. See?


They say language accounts for 70% of all human communication. Which means that 70% of your life can be found in a dictionary. I have a fondness for my dictionary, a fact, which up until recently has remained a secret. I shared it with someone once but as is often the case with shared secrets – you cannot get them back. And if they were never fully appreciated to begin with, you’ve lost a piece of something special. Secrets have a propensity to fester and rot. So I’m writing my secret out loud, so that that someone no longer carries the burden of being the sole being to share my dictionary secret. So here it is: I pick a word every night and make a note about it in my dictionary. If 70% of our life can be found in Webster’s I’ve gone ahead and turned this word catalog into a journal. Example: nefarious – one of my first big words, kismet – a song from the 40’s my grandfather used to sing, kith – I learned from a friend; a forever friend. If you could read my dictionary – I might be embarrassed. There’s so much hidden meaning in my words. But the point is: you know. So it’s not a secret anymore – this variorum is no longer so special. The burden is lifted.


And really, that’s the point of writing all together isn’t it: to get the secrets out. And we can write a piece of fiction and still write a piece of truth. And we can write ourselves in words until the black ink makes us feel complete. I did this when I was lost. I wrote every week until the black ink and the pages compiled a story and I felt found. Recently my soul mate gave me a present and reminded me to keep writing. Because where once I wrote to be found, now I can write for pleasure. You might appear in my fiction but I am no longer processing you. And that makes all the difference.


Feast of Love says: “Happy [people] are all alike, it’s the unhappy ones who write the stories.” Well you might have heard, sometimes I’m a writer and I will write you. I promise I will see you. I promise I will not dismiss you. But now, with my secrets out and my dictionary public – I no longer have to write. “I am no longer a story….Happiness has made me fade into real life……..” And you? Concupiscence, Impenitence. Recrudescence. Supervene. Maudlin. Adumbration. Vexation. Patience. Veracity. Kith. You journeyed with me here. Priceless – that, in a word, is unmatched.