As an ad agency owner, I appreciate the value of well-written copy. Words are a most powerful tool. They can shape and mold the reader, but they can also change the soul of the writer as they spill onto the page. Words ignite energy, diffuse anger, heal emotions or play with passion. They have a life of their own. After all, they are the very "life force" our Creator used to fashion this universe. I endeavor to tame them, to force them to bend, to yield, to submit to my own will, that I might create a small universe of my own – a place to where I and my reader can escape, if but for a brief time, to share a common moment found in words.
Is there a person among us who doesn't have a great title and synopsis for his masterpiece lying scattered around his brain? I am simply one of the many who think I have a book inside. But I would like to be one of the few who actually take their book outside, at least for the occasional walk in the park, if not to take up permanent residence.
Perhaps it's grand delusion to believe others who tell me I have a "gift for writing." Perhaps they are only being kind friends. I guess I will have to test the waters to find out the truth.
The career placement tests I took in high school and college both loftily suggested "WRITER" as my certain destiny in life. A part of me would like to believe them. But dare I? Until now, I have not. Only now does the closeted writer in me yearn to find a place to express itself where others, perhaps unkind strangers, can tell me if it's so.
Can I be a writer? Well, anyone can be a writer. But can I be a writer of merit? Someone who might make a difference or touch another from a distance using only words? Tell me. For only unkind strangers may have the kindest words of all. They shall put me out of my misery, or to my glory with THEIR words.