|I am not sure when I began to believe in the power of words. As long as I can remember I have loved books and stories, hearing a well-crafted turn of phrase, or even witty banter. Words have always held a kind of magic for me and for most of us. We are swayed by the words of others at one point or another in our lives. |
Most of it is just noise out there cluttering up the landscape but some of it truly wonderous and magical. Single words are ingredients for potions and phrases are spells if you will. Come up with the right combination of words and a host of things might be opened to you; power, money, fame, love and companionship. Our dreams could come true if only we knew the right words.
Reading back over the opening of this I am not as certain of my faith in words anymore, or at least in my own voice as I was once.
My love of words began with books and then later I fell in love with writing. Some of my earliest memories were thumbing through books and feeling empathy for the characters and their struggles, long before I knew the meaning of empathy. From their I started to write things for myself. I shared some stuff and it was ridiculed which didn’t help to inspire sharing the things I wrote again. I used to write things then burn them. Now in the computer age I can write and delete and save the trees and pens.
Over the years I have kept written journals, tried to write poetry, some stories and even a book here and there. Most people who know me don’t really know this because I never or rarely tell anyone of my love for writing. If you are reading this and knew, congratulations and if you didn’t know… surprise.
I don’t really share my writing, which makes it very odd that I have a blog. One which has for the most part been censored, but not the kind of censorship because the content was offending but a self-imposed censoring or exiling my writing to the modern-day pyre. I write and delete, rewrite and delete and toss out, stare at the blank page, write and delete. The silence roars at my soul.
A few people in my life have mentored my writing but only briefly, more because I never shared with them my desire to do more with words, than it being their lack of ability to guide me. I remember one mentor saying that the ancient Greeks believed that the muses would inspire those with whom they saw talent, but if that person did not use idea, the muses would give the idea to someone else.
Phobos and Deimos have laid siege to my voice, and I have failed to wage against them. Mostly still I just write and delete, but I am trying to be bolder and rediscover my voice. What I write may not matter to many, maybe it matters to one person or perhaps just to me.
Back before I adopted the name invisible don as my nom de plume it was a nickname given to me by a friend who was struggling with personal issues and her own fears of coming out to her family. I don’t know what I ever said that made any difference but to her it did. She started calling me, invisible don, because I was an unseen friend who would listen and offered advice sparingly.
The nickname was because we both loved Kevin Smith movies and as an homage to his character of Silent Bob, if you don’t know, is a character that doesn’t say much but when it matters says something important or at least is something that needs to be said. So where as Silent Bob was not heard much, I was not seen and not heard much. The name also resonated with me for varied personal reasons.
At some point after that I started writing on the internet sometimes. It wasn’t until recently that any of this was known. The blog or notes are just random thoughts. Some have known about the online writing for a while and some people don’t. It isn’t anything particularly inspiring but I enjoyed writing it.
Writing the blog allowed me to begin to re-explore my love of writing and some stories and some poetry has been written. I don’t share them and while I was going to say I don’t know why, I do know. Fear. The siege is still there, so while I will post notes and blog posts, I don’t really share the things I do write and largely have stopped writing but not completely. The little that does get written has been lost in a few hard drive crashes and what is printed is in some boxes tucked away from any eyes.
I try not to delete as much, but full disclosure, I deleted some lines of this because I don’t know if I am ready to say them at least not here and even if I am ready, I fear that they will not be the right words.
Maybe someday, I will find the right words and not feel the sway of Phobos and Deimos but I will use what the muses leave for me when they choose.
Well, that’s all for now, other stuff to follow most likely
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