White Space

I write. Poems, journals, essays (I am the essay queen), random half-stories that I never finish. I long to fill empty spaces with words. Not that this is very inspiring example, but I think I have a fair amount of creative talent. However, I can't seem to muster up enough courage to believe that I might have enough of it to pay for my supper. So I don't. My mom has always encouraged me to be a writer or journalist. I don't think I could, even with a degree and all that pomp and circumstance (after, all, it's just a piece of paper). I don't think I could rely on my creativity to regularly come up with something intersting, entertaining, and thought provoking on command. I don't write every day. I don't have enough to write about. Even with local and global events, there's only so much one can say. There are times when words pour from my head like a river in spring. Other times, it's more like a dusty wash in high summer. It's funny, when I write something I long for feedback. Something more substantial than just "I like it." I want to know WHY you like it. I want to know what I could do better. I want to have someone rip it to shreds and then tell me if it really is all that satisfactory after all. Ath the same time, I'm so afraid of what someone might say. If I let someone read my poems, I always ask, "What'd it make you think of?" Sometimes I get a vague response detailing what I was intending to convey, on far rarer occasions I get an interesting and completely unexpected viewpoint. I love those. I love it when I say something without it. I love to draw pictures in people's heads. I don't want you to tell me what I see, I want you to tell me what YOU see.

So I'm going to try an experiment. I'm pretty sure only one or two people read this, so I don't honestly expect a response, but if anyone cares to, tell me what this makes you think of:

--Slipstream--

Stealing these days from
Some other
Place
As the melody
Wavers high and
Slips
Into a thousand
Shards of memory
Another phrase to
Take me back--
And my thoughts slipstream
Into this half-hearted
Madness
Stealing these
Days
--Golden days
Each though takes me
Just a bit further
Away
And reaching back
Into memory
Heavenly, or at least
I tell myself
It was better
So much
Better
Take me back...

--dragon Read more!