Sometimes I forget. Maybe because it's easier to not think about the power each word can hold. When thought, when written, when shared with anyone who may read them. Maybe it's a defense mechanism. If I let myself concentrate on the fact that each time I write the moments that aren't designed to make you laugh but, rather, make you do anything but, I probably would have stopped writing long ago.
That's probably why I prefer to let myself believe that only faceless strangers read my words. I might know your twitter handle and talk to you on Facebook, but you don't know about the fact that, at six years old, I was terrified to go to sleep for fear of never waking up after attending my grandmother's funeral unless I tell you and not because you were actually there.
And therein lies the only sense of control I really need.
I choose what to reveal. I choose the tone. Will I strive for laughter or aim for angst-ridden tears? Will I share enough to be relatable or just enough to make you curious? I dunno...
It all depends on my mood.
That's not something I can control. Not when it comes to the pathways between my brain and my fingers, anyway. I might be cracking wise verbally and prepared for laughs when I sit down to write but that's not how it always happens. When my fingers connect with the keyboard something strange happens; my thoughts begin to sift through a sort of funnel that seems to be designed to only let through the ones that need to breathe because the rest can wait until another day. I write, sometimes not blinking until I've finished an essay or a blog post, all energy focused on telling whatever truth there is in the very moment I am trying to show you in the way it needs to be told.
I forget because I'm just doing what comes as naturally to me as breathing. I forget because that's how I write.
But then I read someone else's words and am brought into someone else's moment and that's when I remember.
This post was inspired by an essay submitted to an anthology I'm working on putting together. Want to know the definition of really good writing? When your words inspire the birth of more words. Thank you, Mercedes. For inspiring me.