The written word is the only thing that lasts forever.
When I sit down to write, I get lost in the process. Often, when I finish writing, I find myself doing a double take at the clock, amazed by how much time has passed. Sometimes, when I review what I’ve written, I say aloud, “Where in the world did that come from?” My mind answers that it came from my heart.
When my grandson saw the print copy of my first novel, he fanned through the pages and sounded amazed when he said, “Meme, where did all that come from?” I laughed and pointed at my head. He then proceeded to warn me sweetly that nobody was going to read that many words.
Writing empties my mind of the swirling that can affect my mood, memories, and health. It releases the toxic things that slither around my mind, leaking poison. Writing creates a channel of release and leaves me lighter for it. Some of the greatest gifts I've ever received came from my heart, revealing things I didn't know existed within me.
I encourage anyone who doesn’t write to try it. The words don’t have to be about anything in particular. You can begin with anything— what you see out your window or what you are wearing— and see where it leads. Some days, I only write a paragraph. But some days— the magical days— I stare at the written words that pour out of my heart in wonder.
The written word is the only thing we leave behind that lasts forever.
I gave my mother a book with questions about her life and pestered the stew out of her to answer all the questions. Since I lost her, it has become my most treasured possession. Her words are a window into the life of a sharecropper’s daughter in Georgia— rich stories I would’ve never known about Mama if I had not insisted she write them. They would be an excellent novel.
When my father died nine months to the day after we lost Mama, I sat beside him while he was dying. He was in a coma, and while I watched him slip away, I felt like I was watching a library burn. All. Those. Stories. Daddy refused to write so I recorded him answering my questions.
Write. Write for the joy of creating characters, or a world with infinite possibilities. Write so people who hurt like you don’t feel alone. Write to capture memories of your life. Write so that someone somewhere might connect with you one day after you’ve departed this world. Pain, addiction, heartache, loss, sickness... who has not been touched by the things that change us forever. Trust me, someone, somewhere, sometime, will be touched by what you share. Writing is loving the world if you do it with empathy.
The best gift you can give anyone, is a blank journal and a pen. Like my beloved character, Ioannis, says, “It’s just love.”
Pass with peace,
Mae
