A lonely girl walks into a room. All eyes stare at her intently, sizing up her next move. Then from the corner of her she sees a guy twitch then another, then another. It gets to a certain point where everyone in the room starts twitchimg.
Sadness overtakes her as she comes to the understanding that they are doing this to humiliate her, to subtly taunt her and to most importantly make her seem odd.
How funny that word is, ODD. To be different from the rest. To stand out of a crowd. Why must this be her cross to bear?
Then the realisation hits her hard. No two people are alike. We are all individualistic in our own unique way. ..
She starts to grin, then smile, then snicker, soon a full-on explosion of laughter errupts from her lips. She can do nothing to help it. She laughs because all she can do is laugh. She laughs at the sheer stupidity of humanity. She laughs to cover her sadness because she comes to the conclusion that most people will never reach this realization.
“All she knows are big words.” “She only knows how to talk.”they say, misled jealousy clearly the route of their anger. Anger at what, only God knows.
But what I know is the feeling the crafting of words to form a beautiful peace of art gives me. It gives me a a sense of euphoria that can only be described as heavenly.
Any passionate writer whether professional or amateur, romance or fiction etc. can clearly empathise with me. For they the few who have been given the gift to write know that it is a feeling like no other.
So yes, I use big words. And no, I am not going to stop. Because to stop would be an almost fatal blunder from which I can never recover. No, I am not exaggerating.
So I guess my final thought is this; Do not give into the hateful envy of the sad mediocre who would rather prefer to use bland words to express themselves rather than full, rich words with deeper meanings which will leave the reader or listener begging for more while giving their mind something to chew on.
Looking at my toes. Reminiscing over the days gone. Finally had the courage to put pen to paper.
I’m doing it the old-fashioned way to give respect to the craft I love best, WRITING.
Writing, Writing, Writing. The magical process of turning a remarkable moment in one’s life into a form of art that can be passed from generation to generation to generation ad infinitum.
To do this as a job you ask, building castles in the air I reply. The doubts start clouding my mind. Thank you for introducing me to my worst enemy, myself.