words are funny things…

Words are always there. But sometimes you can’t figure out how to use them. Every writer knows what this is like.

So, while my brain is so occupied with leaving my job and getting ready for a trip, the blog post that I want to write isn’t coming together. At least I know where I’m going with it. It’ll come.

But while I was NOT writing, I was going through some boxes, and found a notebook. I have a lot of those, most of which are empty. Or they have a few pages written, and then nothing else. I remembered this one, though.

I haven’t written fiction in a long time, so this was written several years ago. I had a random dream (no, I’m not Stephenie Meyer, so shut up), and it was so vivid that I tried to write it down, before I forgot it. Reading that notebook, I still haven’t forgotten that dream, or that story.

And for someone who loves fantasy and fairy tales, it’s the only decent piece of writing I’ve ever done, based on a fairy tale. Oh, I wanted to rewrite Snow White and the Huntsman, but that’s still in my head. This is on paper.

Am I going to tell you what story it was based on, and where I was going with it? No, I’m not. For me, writing fiction goes a lot deeper than my normal blogging does. That might not make sense, since I write about myself and what I do. But that is writing about what actually happened, as I saw it.

For me, writing fiction is digging deeply into myself for what I know about the world around me… and then putting what is inside of me onto paper. For all the world to see. It may look like fantasy, but it’s a part of me. From deep down, where I didn’t know I had it in me.

Like when I read that notebook.

And pardon my French, but all I could think was, “Damn, I’m a writer“. Followed immediately by, “Could I ever do that again?”

I sure hope so.

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