New Beginnings

So, I hear that if I want to write a story the best thing I can do is to write words.

A few weeks ago I read something by someone about the difference between a person's ability to write and their taste in writing. That person said that for most people their ability to write, the level at which they are at, is below the level of what they appreciate when they read. Therefore they get disappointed in their writing and stop writing. The writer then went on to say that the only way to overcome this gap in ability is by sheer volume of work. Of course, she (I think it was a she) was not being only specific to writing stories, but to anything in general that we set our minds to.

As a self confessed perfectionist, I find that I have fallen into this same trap. I want something to be done perfectly. If it cannot be done perfectly, then I do not want to do it at all. However, since I eventually want to write commentaries (dull, boring, and soul shriveling commentaries) and sci-fi/fantasy novels, I figure I should get some practice in writing under my belt (so to speak. I don't need to get any fatter than I already am O.o).

All these things being said, I will endeavor to write, whether they be mundane of inspiring things. Thus, then, the purpose of this new blog is to write words. I hope you enjoy them and they perhaps give you paws (/looks at hands [if you are wondering and haven't seen the term before, "/action" means "perform this action." I would have used a footnote for this, but alas this is not Word.]) to think.

[Also, I forgot the username and password for my old blog.../facepalm.]

Here is something inspirational and thought provoking (that still holds true) to make you think I might be a well writer (I wrote this is 2009 for my LA Literature class):

            I grew up in Washington, the Evergreen State. Washington seems to be rightly famous for the rain that it receives. This helps to keep the state green evermore. The scenery is always beautiful there, especially on a clear day.

            I lived next to a park, East Sammamish Park that was next to my elementary school, Margaret Mead. Every day for years I would walk through this park to school for my education. I have fond memories of this school, but none more so than during the summers, when my sisters and I would wander the school grounds, playing on the playground equipment and wandering through the woods that were adjacent to the school.

            A particularly fond memory of mine, when I was about twelve years of age, was on one of these incursions into the woods with my sisters. On this particular occasion, we wandered alone the edge of the woods, drifting in and out of school grounds and woods. Washington is nearly always overcast in some form or another. It gets a truly clear day about as often as Southern California gets rain, so not often.

            Standing on the boundary between worlds stood a tree of good height for climbing. As a young boy, what other purpose did trees serve? My sisters and I, clothed in jeans and t-shirt, climbed the tree and sat up there looking out over the school grounds, surveying the land. Visible was the dirt soccer field, the softball field, the kindergarten play ground, the tether balls, the pavement, and the school itself. Even the school we were able to see over.

            Up in the elevated position of this tree, treading three different worlds, not but the wind made a sound. The woods provide their own background music: the gently rustling leaves, the occasional squirrel running through a tree. The school grounds, absent of people, provided a welcome calm from civilization. In this place, met by civilization, the wild, and heaven, what I remember most is the wonder of observation and silence.

            These two items, observation and silence have stuck with me for my many school years. They are core to who I am. I am always getting the lay of the land and survey the facts of where I am in life as well as where the things around me, such as my country, school, and world, are going. I always want to learn. This is additionally facilitated by the silence that is often my companion. Though I walk with others (my sisters on this occasion), my default is to listen and watch, to sit between worlds, uncommitted to any one world until that world should prove its worthiness of my allegiance.

            Even after getting down from that tree and trekking over fences and through fields back home, this sense of wonder and silence still sticks with me. There is something refreshing and invigorating about taking wonder in God’s creation and sitting in silence observing what God has created. I get so busy these days that I am sometimes driven mad. I long to go back to those days of quiet contemplation, either on a deserted beach on a clear night, with the sand reflecting the night sky, or an elevated tree, with not but the wind for celestial music.