I am not one of many words this week, partly due to exhaustion but, I think, mainly because I have been using a lot of words recently. For family, for friends, for my partner. I have read for my course and written for this blog…I haven’t yet taken the time to sit down and use some words for me.
Using words to soothe or recreate myself is a crucial part of my life. Words can be my anchor and my illumination when I have lost my way.
I can’t envelop myself in words when they are always directed at others – I suppose that makes me quite a selfish author, in some ways. But I don’t see this as a negative thing. I believe that writers pour themselves into their work in all sorts of ways, not always obvious even to them. We reveal our darkest secrets and deepest desires under a cloak of obscurity and clouded worlds. We mutate and twist and create a new us on the page so as to give ourselves a breather from the tangible being sat at the keyboard. It’s a release.
These past few days though…well, I can’t think of many words that I could truly say were mine. And if I’m being honest with you, right now I don’t have anything left in me to share.
So I thought I would borrow words from a favourite author of mine, Aidan Chambers. It is a quote from his novel ‘The Pillowbook of Cordelia Kenn’ and was originally written about love – but in my opinion, it can be equally applied to my relationship with words.
Your hand –