This blog has spells where it goes stagnant or dormant, and nothing new comes for a really long time. I struggle from years of suppression and internal discouragement. If I don’t have the idea, even just a seed, then I don’t even bother to water the flowers. In the summertime, I don’t get very far with anything and I don’t have as much going on, so I really think about writing a lot and often. I used to love to write. There was no pressure to make it big, bold, pulse-pounding, or even good. It was just something I did. After taking writing classes, I got to a point where I thought the stuff I did for fun couldn’t be fun because it had to have meaning or depth. I had to, as they say, go big – or not even waste my time. While that may not even be the case, that’s how it came to my mind. To even try to start the grand schemes I could envision would be too much too soon. Writing is a lot like the earth. You have to peel back later by later of fertile soil so that the seed can reach the nutrients required to sprout roots and stretch and grow into something that can produce a resource. Pride comes from the work put into growing that plant and nurturing that seed, but when the farmer asks himself “Why wait on the seeds when I could buy the fresh finished product at the store in a fraction of the time?”

To me, I want to read more so that I can find inspirations or learn a craft, if you will. Writing makes me happy. Most of the time on my blog, I just write about analysis of WWE Pay-per-view event. Readers will see one of those posted later today as Payback airs LIVE tomorrow night at 8pm eastern on the WWE Network. Considering those characters and admiring the crafty storytelling of America’s last living form of live performance theater makes me happy, but the seed doesn’t take much water. There’s no effort in that because I’m already provided with source material. From the minute I woke up today, I felt determined to write. I’ve wanted to write for weeks, but I couldn’t find my niche. I kept telling myself that there’s no reason to do something with something to do. As you can see from this response to my own mental prompt, I had my answer the whole time. I don’t have to force anything when I can simply write about wanting to write. Writing makes me happy. Writing gives me satisfaction. At a tender age of 13, writing helped me understand my world around me, even if I made it up as I went. What happened to my characters was just as much a surprise to me as anything I could find in nature or on television as entertainment.

Writing is not simply the act of organizing words on a page to tell a story. Writing is documenting the lives, thoughts and actions, of people only I can see who live in places that only I know. It’s my job to share their accounts. Without me, those universes go as untapped resources. The adventures are never passed along, and the lessons can never be learned to those blind to the realms in which I have access. Writing is not a process. Writing is a journey. As this river flows from my mind through my fingers and into this post, I also realize that writing will always be a part of me. My “way with words” is my way of life. I have been awakened and reborn with a zeal to write.

I hope people reading this will find at least one person along my journey with whom they can relate. I hope I do those people on my journey justice in transcribing their tales and parlaying them as best I can, with as little pressure on myself or my craft as possible.

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