Words have always been my muse, my vice, my addiction. They have been my RX, my therapy, my refuge. I have inscribed thoughts and brought visions to life, first on scribbled paper, and later on carefully crafted tech platforms, as a way of not only being a beacon of light to those struggling in the dark around me, but first in a desperate attempt to both remember who I was, and more importantly to prove to myself that I hadn’t been irrevocably lost….especially during the nights when my buried soul was muted, buried, and left in violated silence.
When I have lost all words is when those around me have really started to worry.
And some people have told me over the years that I say too much, my posts are too intense, too transparent, too revealing, too deep, too blah blah blah…and after being hung up on what those people have felt, and their approval, for so long, my answer is this: you don’t like what I write? No one is holding a gun to your head to read it. Unfriend. Unfollow. Unengage.
I know that many of my posts are not for the faint of heart. “I” am not for the faint of heart. I have so much complexity and layers, dichotomies and paradoxes, I confuse even myself sometimes. I keep myself on my own toes, and not purposely. I wish I was simpler, easier to figure out, a more “peggable” type, trust me. I feel like I live my life with a label of, “great potential, super talented, and wonderful heart, but a never ceasing brain and vast awareness of people and places, and the desire to know and experience all of it while conversely being a desperately solitudish introvert, creates a living disability of characteristics akin to a squirrel, grasshopper, butterfly, and cockroach (all things I’ve been called), all rolled into one. She functions with mesmerizing multitaskedness and overachieving capacity, or she doesn’t function at all; there is very little middle ground in this woman’s life. But Jesus is her rock and stay, her grounding incense; and thank God. Without this core foundation and purpose, Carrie would fail at life.” I know these types of observations, I help write them all the time as a teacher.
From my “un-haters”, 😉, I’ve been asked repeatedly to write a book about my story. I am terrified to do so. When I post on social media or my blog, and certainly my paper journals, it’s risk free, very little rejection, and I can amuse myself with the illusion that hundreds are reading my words and being encouraged or inspired, even if not a soul glances at it.
But writing a book is a whole other game. However, this comment posted here,from a friend the other day, with it’s blatant message, stirred something in me. So while I’m not ready to write the book quite yet, I feel that the sunset of this next year will provide a rhythmic end to this phase of my life, before starting the next, I AM going to begin compiling posts, entries, etc., to begin the process, and I need your help! Any suggestions on topics you’d want me to include, the best ways to go about writing a draft, the publishing process, etc., I desperately need help with.
And to all of you who have ever told me to write a book, thank you, thank you, thank you. I’ve saved all of your comments as encouragement and focus. So, as my friend Keith said, d*** it, let’s get this party started.