A few months ago I used to be a part of a bookclub- I know what you’re thinking when you hear that.
Grey Haired Grannies.
This was anything but. This was a group of women in their prime talking about the relevancy of fact and fiction, and learning healing through conversation. We led one another onto a train to Pakistan, through walks on Beale Street, and even found Power in our Secrets. We captured the essence of life, and created a platform for our thought processes. Alas, the club disbanded when our lives got too busy, though it remains a whisper on the winds to come some day. When the book club let out, I lost an outlet.
Writing is sharing one’s voice without making a sound. Words are set in stone- in blog posts rather. They give us the freedom to let our thoughts tumble out of us, creating streams of conscience that merge into rivers. They are everything that I had with my book club, but of my own mind. Only of my mind. This is why they are necessary.
Every time I crack open a new journal, the first entry is always about “why I write”. The reason changes every time. This time, it is less personal. It is about my need to share with others. Writing online is about cultivating relationships with kindred spirits around the world. It’s about looking for an outlet that is bigger than me. I want to share things that I think are relevant, whether literary, analytical, musical, political, or problematic.
These thoughts are a part of my story. Won’t you read with me?