A Long Silence

There is a writer, a painter, an artist of expression that has fallen into a quiet… one that leached movement and silenced the exude.

Though… there is value in a pause, in halting to listen, in stopping to see where footsteps guide, and then to choose the next destination. I found a gap, one that in it’s sharpness bit into the flow of creation, something dearly needed to continue. So, the stories sludged to a stop and into the waters of learning I wade.

I could never have imagined the workings of this year. I participated in Nation Novel Writing Month… and won, my first novel was written. In the course of the year I discovered painting and drawing, in a way I never had. A series of ridiculous and satirical novellas grew, a slew of short stories fostered my learning. It wasn’t all steps forward. No dance of life moves in one direction, there are always… obstacles that pose as difficulty, yet, it is those same moments that shed light on growth spots.

I’ll not regale when I flooded my place of work, or leapt into investing… and lost, or the pieces of my life I stripped away in the process. Home, family, friends, social life and even my own mind. See, before, at a time beyond me now… I was someone different. A man blanketed, suffocating on the threads I’d spun around myself…

This year was about breaking out of that web, sloughing away the tendrils that clung, worry, fear, jealousy… they had grown to me like vines to a tree.

Don’t give in, don’t let those vines choke the life from the hands that can pull them free. I did… and wasted 31 years of the most precious thing I have.

Writer of Age

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