I decided that since I’m behind on the NaBloPoMo prompts (started a few days late) and the weekend is free-writing days, I’d just go back to the first one and start from there. Kind of a fill in. The first prompt was Tuesday, Nov 1st and it was, “What is your favourite part about writing?”
I don’t know if I have a favorite part of writing. I’ve been doing it so long it just seems like it’s the other half of me. When I first started writing my father gave me a book by T.S. Eliot (who my tot would later get half of his middle name from) and he told me to never stop. My father inspired me with his old poetry, he had a gift for rhythm and words that pulsed through me and that beat has just always been there.
silent frozen clouds bear witness
a cold white moon sits in judgement
death stalks a small childs dog
adulthood the proper punishment
for puberty’s sins gains foothold
and laughter turns to tears turns to
Perhaps my favorite part of writing is just that it immortalizes moments, I write the words so they stay. They were the only thing in my younger years that were of some permanence. Throughout all the moves, all the changes around me and inside of me, the words that bled through my pen were concrete and eternal. They would never leave me.
I just wanted to trap words on a page so they wouldn’t go anywhere but here
I can pretend they are murderers of time and I am interogating them
one by one, and deleting them with backspace if I feel so inclined
I am the prison ward and I have captured each and every one of them
out of jealousy for their strength, pride, and freedom to move where I cannot
touch what I cannot, have what I cannot, and take what i cannot have
these words, I write them so they stay
It is something I share with my father. All the years that I had not had him in my life I had my writing and my writing became the part of him that I had missed. It was as if he had given me this gift through genetics and then wrapped it with the book he handed me when I was such a sad little girl. Although he’s been in my life many years now and I have a dearly loved Step-Father, writing continues to be the part of me that will always be the little girl in the blue dress, waiting on the porch steps tying notes to blue balloons; waiting for flowers.