For me, there’s something about writing.
There’s something about writing that let’s me speak.
Oftentimes, when I get really frustrated, when I really want to say something, I turn to words.
They are things that really never change. They are all there, ripe for the picking, to use for our purpose.
It’s amazing, if you think about it, that the entirety, of the common trade language (although I’m not entirely sure how true that fact is anymore) is made up of only 26 letters and a handful of characters. That entire stories and histories and lives are made, summarized, and concisely portrayed with just 26 letters and a handful of characters.
And that I can easily summarize my feelings with those 26 letters and those characters. At least more easily than I can speak them.
For me, writing is cathartic. It’s a release from my mind into a world of my own creation. A world where I can, in many ways, control what happens. It relieves stress and I can breathe, I can think, I can see.
I can know peace inside of me again.
So I suppose that I don’t really know that much about *actually* writing…but I know what it does for me. I suppose that I shall eventually come to write some more helpful ways to write, I mean I am writing a novel, but for now, as my hopeful return to blogging, this will have to suffice.