When people told me I should blog, I
thought, how in the world could I possibly have that much to say? It turns out
I have lots to say. As I posted about recently, I’ve recently rediscovered my
voice. It’s something I’ve always had but didn’t have the courage to use so
openly until recently. But it was always there. The voice. And the words to go with it.
I cannot help but wonder what I did
with all of the words in my head before I started to write them down.
Were they buried?
Did they hide in the folds of my
brain?
Did they bury themselves in the depths of my heart?
Or did they express themselves in
other ways?
Did they show themselves in the form
of fabric and thread, pieced together into something beautiful and unique and
different than what they started out?
Did they filter into the air of
dozens of courtrooms in 4 different counties over a period of 24 years?
Did they spin stories of lives
affected by tragedy or loss or abuse?
I have been told that my writing is
raw, and from the heart. And I think that is probably true. It’s really the
only way I know how to write. I think that at times I am more me in my writing
then I am even in person.
I have loved to read and
subsequently to express myself through the written word since I was young. I
wrote stories and songs and poetry in middle school. I majored in journalism
and English when I was in college. Mostly because I had such a love of words.
I did not follow that career path
for a number of reasons. Beginning pay for journalists is laughable. And as
much as I love to write, I am an introvert and a shy one. Approaching people to
interview them for stories terrified me. The final reason was because I wanted
to be “someone important.” I thought there were things I had to prove. Which
meant being a doctor. And when college chemistry made me realize that was not
my future, I decided to become a lawyer. I wasn’t one of those kids who always
knew they were destined to be anything. I backed into this career. And I’ve
used words over the past 24 years of law. Lots of them. Oftentimes too many of
them.
But they were rarely words that were
fun to write. Words that could be used to paint a picture. To create a scene.
To evoke emotion. To heal wounds. For myself and others.
To have the gift of writing
beautiful words now is just that. A gift. One that I hope I will always enjoy
opening. And one that I hope I will honor always by treating it with honesty
and integrity and the respect that it deserves for the power which it may have.
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