"Write, lovebug, write!" he said, "Write like your life depends on it!"
At first I didn't quite understand why he was so adamant about it. Yes, I enjoy writing. Thus the blog. D'oh. I didn't write/post entries regularly, but it doesn't mean I don't like writing. Sometimes I just prefer relaxing and seeing the world. Ok, most of the time. Happy? Lol. Nonetheless his unmovable view proved to be, ah, unmovable. And after a hefty dose of coaxing, stern reprisal, and many more coaxing I found myself firing up my computer after work, and got lost in the realm.
I travel through the forest not unlike Fangorn in Lord of The Ring. I walked through the city with my boyfriend and enjoy ourselves. I went to the future and the past, and cherishing the smallest details of the present. All in my writing. Like Rodger-Hammerstein's Cinderella once sang, "In my own little corner/In my own little chair/I can be whatever I want to be."
It took him to shook me off and realize how much I love to write. When books take me to their world, I was merely following the path they have provided. In my own writing, I get to choose the path. With those written words I talk to stranger I've never meet before (and will probably never meet ever!): sharing my thoughts, my joy, my agony. It is a wonderful feeling to found myself relaxing and (somewhat) chatting in my worlds of 1000-something words.
But now and then my phone will beep. My boyfriend would contact me and I would be transfered back to reality. The harsh, harsh reality. Well, actually is more of the sweet, sweet reality. For what is sweeter than knowing you will always found home? I can write what I wish, what I want to tell, make up my own world and played in it, but I can always find home afterwards. He'll be there, waiting for me. A fully supporting friend/spouse/patron is a definite "must have item" for any writer!
PS: See baby? I write!
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