The Important Stuff

A Beginning

A story has to begin somewhere. If you've ever played a RPG then you know that many stories start in taverns. How else are you to gather...

Friday, February 9, 2018

Who am I?



Who am I?
Oh boy. Buckle up kids, we’re in for a ride.

Who am I?
I’m a fancy pants dandy. Obsessed with clothes, hair, and make up. Only the finest things in life will do. To love is easy because I can see who someone is on the inside. I know who is truly beautiful and who is a cancer walking around in lace and silk. I crave moments of intimacy, no matter how fleeting, that were denied me for so long. It is a hunger that will probably never go away.

Who am I?
I’m a brash, violent, angry red neck. Life is shit and everyone leaves. Can’t trust anyone because they all lie. But damnit if I don’t keep trying. I create my own family and hold tight to them with a fierce possessive passion. I’m an asshole, but you fuck with my family and I’ll fuck your day up. You’ll wish your mama had swallowed. Now stop bogarting the weed and pass it over here.

Who am I?
I’m a general. I’m an emperor. I’m a healer. I’m a slave. I’m a criminal. I’m a mother. I’m a father. I’m a child about to die. I’m an immortal who has seen it all and then some. I’ve walked through the jungles of a war zone. I’ve danced in ballrooms. I’ve held the hands of my dying best friend. I’ve cured cancer. I’ve killed my enemies. I’ve betrayed my comrades. I’ve run away from love when it hurt too much. I’ve begged them to stay so I’d not be alone.

I am a writer.
I am god. I am death. I am life. I am all three sisters of fate as I weave the threads of lives into a tapestry for my eyes alone. But if you ask nicely enough I might let you have a peek.

I am a writer.
Life is my inspiration. How many generations of life has the mighty oak seen? Who walked the roads I now walk long before I existed? Say something in my range of hearing, and I might just write a story about it. I follow in the footsteps of the giants who have come before me. Their names need not be spoken, only their initials and all know who they are. I leave the door open in my wake so that others may walk this path after me.

I am a writer.
And yet I suck at writing about myself. You want facts? I write fiction. You want reality? I’ll share my dreams. I am a rolling ball of chaos made up of words, ideas, and pictures that are in vivid technicolor in my mind’s eye until I try to share them. Then they are black on white, constrained by vocabulary and grammar rules.

I am a writer.
My voice is a whisper. I am a shadow in the back of the room, pay me no mind. I am the flower against the wall. I am ‘What’s your name again?’. I am, ‘Oh? You’re still here?’. My throat choked by anxiety when you look at me. Why do you judge? My voice may be a whisper, but my written words are the roll of thunder across the prairie. My written words are the crash of the waves at the bottom of the cliffs. The words I put on paper are the howl of the wolf at the full moon. What I write is the real me. The me that isn’t worried the group laughing over there is laughing at me. The brave me. The fearless me. The strong me.

I am a writer.
I want to be the reason you smile. I want to give you someone to love. I want to give you someone to hate with an all consuming passion. I want to give you a world to dream about. I want to give you a world where, if given the chance to go there you are all the NOPE! That place is scary AF! I want to share rainy days with you. I want to rest on your chest after you fall asleep. I want to be the reason you didn’t get any sleep last night. I want to be the reason you blush when you experience ‘that’ scene on the bus. I want to take you somewhere you’ve never been before, while sharing a story as old as time itself.

Who am I?
To tell you the truth I have no idea. I think that is why I write. I write so I can try on different identities. I can explore different bodies. Different experiences. Different parts of the world I might never get to see in person. I get to be what I will never get a chance to be in real life.

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