How Now Brown Cow

I wish I could sit here as I am typing and make it simple by stating "I was inspired to write by Shakespeare's Masterpieces.  The Bard himself spoke to me as I lifted the pages of Much Ado About Nothing, and I could feel the flow of words as they washed over me."  I honestly wish I could turn to a source and point with my fingers "Your fault...  You made me who and what I am." Unfortunately, life and my mind is never so simplistic, nor easy in being able to comprehend the where, who and why write. 

An artist walks along the path of the Adirondacks, only to become inspired by the drops of rain as they cling to the leaves.  He wishes to express this beauty of nature and life upon his canvas.  He shows sweeping strokes of multi-shaded greens and browns mixing with faint blues, yellows and reds.  For him, his paintbrush is his pen.  His canvas is his laptop and he will bring to life his vision.  I on the other hand, view the same woods, and my canvas comes to life in the imagery I create with words.  I seek to bring to life not only how it felt to walk along the path, being careful not to disturb the spotted red Eft lounging on a log, but to help those who may read my words use their imagination and light their senses. 

Can you smell the dampness in the air from the freshly fallen rain?  The fragrance of wet wood, moss, and leaves permeates and perfumes the environment around me.  Off in the distance I see two young deer lounging, unafraid of those who intrude upon their home.  They obviously know I am there, and yet do not flee.  How can I bring to the reader this beauty except by the use of language and my imagination? 

For me writing is not just an outlet, it is food; a hunger, welled deep within my flesh and body, that has been with me since I was a child, sitting in the dark, creating stories in order to keep the “monsters” at bay.  So sit back… relax… have a cup of tea… and let me tell you a story.  Once upon a time, in a land not so far away…