The Reason To Write

Writing is an exercise that draws upon every part of our experience, every word at our command and every tool at our disposal until we are able to express just what we must say into organized thought that makes sense – first to us.

Communication, the more difficult part of the task, is to have used our writing in such a way that it draws another mind and heart into our experience and welds them into being one with us, if only for a moment. If and when that happens, we have indeed written. The kernel of our thought has been sown on ground that received it, allowed it to root and allowed it to flourish, if even for a time.

Some people will reject our subject, title or author's photo. Others will scan the words in a blur and re-shelve the book, never making contact with us. Some might read and see the words and never understand, but the book takes its place on their shelf because it fits the little arrangement of other books.

That rare reader might feel a connection from the moment of first contact. The font selection, the cover illustration and the opening remarks. The feel of the pages and the smell of the ink are nourishment to their soul as the words play harmony in their heart. They connect, they know, they are there and they are with you and can almost anticipate the words before they read them. Almost.

But they must read them because in the reading the connection is complete. Midway through the book there is the agony of reading on to its end or holding back to savor this shared living another day.

They pause and make a favorite tea and nest again to finish this intimate encounter. The conversation resumes as if has never had a pause and they read to the conclusion. The book is closed, cherished, set aside and never to be parted with because this book is alive with feelings that are still within.

The author, not noted. The book was just a single edition, not a part of an anthology. But how it spoke and touched every part of this reader's mind and heart. It is precious, a treasure and it is mine.

The author, long deceased must be blessed because they wrote their heart on paper and their hear has forever touched mine.

Write because you must. Because not to write is to fail the one who is aching to read your heart.

(c) Tim http://www.timjohnsonphotgo.com/ tim@timjohnsonphoto.com