writes and wrongs and in-betweens



hi dad
(paso robles, ca)

My father wrote a couple of books in the 1980s, published by the American Institute of Family Relations. One of the titles was "Kids Can Cope Creatively," and the other "Rights, Wrongs, and In-Betweens." Both books were non-fiction pieces designed to help children and families through the difficult journey of life, growth and human relations. I unfortunately do not have copies of these books. My father passed away last January and I don't believe he kept copies of these books. Ironically, however, I have kept the gift that my dad did give me, and that is the gift of writing. Every time I sit down with my laptop, or with my journal and favorite pen, I smile and am grateful for my creative abilities. Thus the title of my blog, "Writes and Wrongs and In-Betweens;" not only is it a shout-out to my dad, but it also applies to my self, my soul, my gifts and my shortcomings.

Writing....is it actually a gift?  Or a curse? That saying, "a picture is worth a thousand words..." A poignant statement. But have you ever actually sat down to write those thousand words? Have you ever tried to paint a picture using words, expressing an image for one to see, using only words?  It is a challenge. But when you have completed a section of your story, your poem, your novella, even an essay....whatever it may be, if you can paint that picture you have just created a moment in time for someone. You've helped someone's dream come true, their imagination to develop and broaden.....you've achieved what all writer's aim to do: to inspire.

Here is a brilliant, on the first page of "The Bell Jar" by Sylvia Plath:
"New York was bad enough. By nine in the morning the fake, country-wet freshness that somehow seeped in overnight evaporated like the tail end of a sweet dream. Mirage-gray at the bottom of their granite canyons, the hot streets wavered in the sun, the car tops sizzled and glittered, and the dry, cindery dust blew into my eyes and down my throat."

Did you picture New York in the summer? Can you feel what she was feeling? I am choking on exhaust and rubbing sweat off my brow! An amazing passage. And more lucky that it is the third paragraph on the first page of her book. What every writer who wants to get published knows: you have to hook the reader on the first page. Sylvia Plath was one such writer. And so then...

Sometimes having the gift of writing can be a curse?.... For me only because I feel I have to write all the time. For Sylvia? She was not able to express herself outside of her words?  For me, I never have enough time to write. If you read my intro blog, you would have seen that being a writer is only one-one-hundredth of who I am. But writing is my soul. Writing is how I am. I am the moon and writing is my earth. And when I am able to take a moment and express myself through words, I feel complete, that I have done my job and the day has had night and the ocean, tides, and another night will soon come.

I then return to the conclusion that writing is most certainly a gift.  It can be painful, it can be waivering, it can be fleeting...it can keep me warm at night and safe from the cold. The words I write will hopefully some day be those things to other people.  If even just one.