Writing

Writing has always been MY thing. When I did not have anything else to run to, anyone else to talk to I would always have my writing. My writing these days consists more along the topics of “Please do a close reading of how Malcom X was feeling in prison…” or “How does postmodern text A compare/contrast to postmodern text B.”

Bleh.

These days I write in my head as I am driving. When the cool breeze rushes through the drive side window. I put my arm out the window and turn down the music. There is something so mystical about a car drive when it is the dark of the morning. No headlights for miles. Just me, and the open road.



I reflect.

On everything.

For a few minutes as I write intently in my head the chaos of the world slips away. Writing helps me believe. It helps me see light in a situation that is sterile black. It creates a series of events that are scattered yet fluid as they come to me.

My greatest writing I have never written. I can not articulate on paper. It is those moments as I hear the hum of the engine that I feel alive. Rejuvenated. Encouraged.

I sense that peace is coming and someday I will indeed write again.

But for now, I just take a drive.