That’s right, readers. You heard me. College. I started Monday, and the title of this post has been my week. It’s been fun, hard, interesting, boring, amazing, roguish, high, low, dark, light, and many other words I could probably use but don’t have the time to. As you probably guessed from the title, I don’t have much time tonight. I should really be writing my second essay of the semester so far right now, but I felt awful about neglecting my wonderful readers and needed a break anyways. So, rather than boring you with the many details of my first three days of college, which I don’t have time to record at the moment, tonight I will share with you a little tidbit I wrote in a fastwriting exercise today. You writers out there will get this, I’m sure. But, for the rest of you, just hang in there. I know this piece is rather rocky. But that’s kind of the point. In fastwriting, the only goal is to keep your pen moving. You aren’t supposed to care about grammar, spelling, overusing words, sounding repetitive, anything. You just write. And that’s exactly what I did here. But, besides it’s sloppy horrid-ness, I hope you can find a bit of enjoyment in it.
Writing flows freely. No thought is required. It just happens. One moment, I see a blank page. The next, it’s filled with words, stories, dreams, longings, love, hate, beauty. Blots of ink peppering the page, like inky black raindrops. All it takes is an accepting hand, and a pen will carry you to the moon and back, or anywhere in between. It will take you anywhere, give you the power to do or be anything you could ever want. It can even take you to places you don’t want to be, places you dread, and in doing so, make you more thankful for the life you live. A pen is power. It’s power to give yourself voice, power to take charge. But it’s also a path. A key. Everywhere, in anything, paper tigers are waiting to be unleashed. Characters, beautiful, wonderful, deep, funny, loveable, hateable, real characters live in the tip of a pen, just waiting for a hand to give it flight. They have stories, tales, fables, lives to live and tell of.
A pen is a terrible burden. A burden that few know how to handle, or handle well. A pen can carry worlds, lives, deaths, the fate of entire galaxies rest solely on a writer’s intentions, or lack of them. The power one wields with a pen is unmatchable. Unending. It’s a power that can be used for good, or for evil. But a pen is also an untamable thing, something with it’s own will. A writer may be able to decide the main points of a character’s story, but they have a life of their own. A poor writer forces their characters to do what they wish. A true writer lets the pen take flight, gives it freedom to listen to the whispers, the voices, the ceaseless longings of the characters surrounding us, breathing life into them, giving them birth on the flat, white, two dimensional pages. Writing can be arduous, but only if one tries to control the power of the pen. The strongest writer is one that does not write at all, but only listens. Listens to the voices only a pen can bring.