I'm entertaining the thought of taking a creative writing class. I love writing because somehow my words are more free on a clean sheet of paper, than stumbling over my mind, into my throat and out of my mouth- to be sometimes lost on a stray breeze.
Letters have always held more truth for me than numbers. Words may not "add up" like numbers, in that logical sense, but they paint a beautiful world. To me the choice between math and literature was simple ... you can accept reality, which is unchanged no matter your perspective, and realize that you have no impact on that cold reality. Or, you can shape an entire existence from a single thought. And who is to say which reality holds more importance? Expression vs. Logic. Well, I'm sure the order in which I just placed the choices shows my preference.
My dilemma with taking such a course is based on my reluctance to share my ideas, my words, my world. Most of my life I've spent at the fringe of acceptance. Adults marveled at my maturity until they felt threatened by my "wisdom" remarking that I cannot possibly know what I know simply because I don't have the years under my belt with which to prove myself. My peers felt uncomfortable with anything that required them to think, so my questions went unanswered, my presence ignored. As I got older it seemed that the challenges to fit in got harder. Having a beautiful face, long, shinny hair, and a constant sensual way about me- only bred hurtful comments from other girls... I was a bitch, a whore, a dog. Being a tomboy was natural, (since my father raised me to be the boy he always wanted) which helped me escape a little of the female scorn. But once puberty hit, it was impossible to hang with the guys without having to deal with unwanted advances (looks, jokes, touches). Add to this my tendency for premonitions and "other worldly weird shit," ... and it's not a recipe for unity and acceptance. My haven was words- my words.
So do I really want to take my little hidden world, serve it up on a silver platter, and allow vultures to feed off the small place I with held safely for so damn long?
Ahhh what the hell... I'm not afraid of anything, remember???? Besides, I like a challenge.
