The Word for Writers

---

The Writer
By T.H. Mason

I pore out my life onto the pages like a sacrificial lamb pores out its blood. As the lamb, I too have no control over this. My thoughts spin in all directions creating things that live only in my mind, of which I seem to have no control. The world my characters live in just keeps getting larger and more diverse. It is of little use to try and stop this. The only thing that seems to make it better is when it finally comes out onto my computer. Like a valve placed in my mind that must be loosed or I will explode into tears.

I set before this blank screen but I know it will not be blank for long. My life becomes part of the page that lies before me. I am a writer. What is it that drives me?
The characters I create are a part of me, even the bad one. I am both bad and good. Some times my words don’t even sound like they come form me. Like a distant force guides my fingers and my words to its will. I know there are things I should be doing but my child on the pages before me, a piece of me, is in trouble. I am the only one that can help them.

Why do I feel that there is something I must say? Are my words of any use to any one but me? I see so many out there have made it to the promise land of writers, the magical world of Barns & Nobel. Their words proudly placed into a hard covered book for the entire world to see. The time spent away from friends and family was worth it now. Their pages, once nothing more then a blank screen are waiting for a reader to take them home. Why, how, when will my time come to this end. My book place proudly on the shelf called fiction, non fiction or even lawn and garden.

Family members think it is nice but not a job. They believe I should spend my time doing things that the world says is important. They do not understand. If I could only make it one time they would then accept what I do. They would better understand if my dishes are not done or that I haven’t shaved today. Life goes on around me and I have been a part of it but this seems like where I live, black letters on a white background. That is where my mind opens to worlds that are real or known to only me.
My years in Tiberias Israel are brought to life before my very mind. As I walk along the Sea of Galilee at sunrise, the water smooth as the belly of a catfish. There is a lone fishing boat sliding silently across its surface, stopping only to hall in the nets. I am watching the colors of the Golan Heights changing from dark gray to a soft, deep purple.
I can see all of this as clear as the screen before me yet I am in an apartment in the state of Maine. Why me Lord. What is it that I must put pen to paper about? Someday I will know or at least I pray that I do. To all of you that suffer form this same ailment? You are not alone. We will do what we do. We can do nothing else.

---

PLEASE ENCOURAGE AUTHOR BELOW LEAVE COMMENT ON ARTICLE