Here's a little story about me, about my skill to paint a grim little scene, to make the mind creak, to talk of those things which we don't like to speak.
I was a girl of sixteen and I had a dream, to exist so broken hearted that I would know, know to the core, that love was as real as I thought it should have been.
I was dramatic to say the least and wrote poems spanning ages, wrote of crashed cars and seeing those eyes again later, FEELING that stare, knowing that though time had passed, he'd not actually gone anywhere.
English class came, seemed so lame, most days in the back with the boys, getting out of work with the most clever ploys.
Then one day the teacher said, we could share our writing, with all the others, to my inner longings this seemed inviting.
I stood up there looking at my fellow rebels and freaks, looking at the rave kids and the geeks, I mustered the courage to spill out the words, only concepts my inner head had ever previously heard.
I spoke of a guy, a drug addict on his small cot, four walls and loneliness were his lot, if no needle in his veins then it was all for naught, I painted his sadness and all the hardships he now caught.
As I read in a regular voice, the room was so quiet I could hear no noise, I looked up worried and in fear that no attention was near, then I saw the tears, I saw the cocky guys with distant downcast eyes, the rave chick with choking sighs, I decided this would be the last time I wrote for a very long while, that I'd need to cause my skill's demise.
The reason you stopped writing is the reason I keep writing....To reach out to people and give them even a slice or glimpse into my life and the struugles and hardships for people like me. All in hopes of educating some,causing others to educate themselves and ultimately working towards ending stigma!
I send out my most humble and gracious of thanks to you for the invitation. Now that formalities are over, thank you so much for your kind words and thinking of me in the regard of joining your group. I actually enjoy your work and hope you continue to do so. There are times in which we experience moments such as those found in 'Why I Stopped Writing' and it is those movements that you realise what you are really capable of. So with that I thank you once again and I look forward to more of your work and that of the group's.
I wish you hadn't have felt compelled to stop, but rather to carry on writing
Hopefully, you should realize now if you can bring any emotion in others through your work then it is a thing to be cherished. Sharing pain, pleasure, happiness or sadness through art is a very good thing ^u^ as it allows others to sort of enter a new way of thinking and understanding emotion.
Can I also request ever getting to read the "writing" in this text, as I am tremendously curious? :3
Hi- yes in my description I noted that I definitely changed my view and thus I'm writing! I agree for sure! The piece of writing is long gone- think I scribbled it on a paper and probably got rid of it shortly after. Thanks for reading it and sharing your views. I always appreciate the feedback
This certainly resonates with me. I've tried to distance myself as much from my experiences in high school as possible, but I still remember how two-dimensional, cliquish, and shallow everyone was then. You've captured that well. As for the subject here - I've created art for the enjoyment (or other reaction) of others, and I've created art just because I felt it should exist regardless of what other people think of it. I'm not sure which I find more fulfilling.
Now THAT is a story teller! Not a writer, not an artist, a captivating, emotion enthralling storyteller! I applaud you for making them feel, you should have kept writing. From what you say, your talent is unparalleled. And for that you have my utmost reverence!