I’m often asked what it’s like to be a writer — how I spend my days, how I experience the world. And so I will be sharing occasional essays from the front lines of my writing life. Enjoy!
We cry out from the get-go. It is our very first act of being. We go from fluid warm darkness into a bright, sharp world filled with sounds and smells and warm hands on bodies we do not yet know are ours. We cry out because that is what we, as babies, do. Our cries make others turn their heads and try to decipher. What, Sweet Pea, do you need?
It will be a long time, however, perhaps a lifetime, before we are able to weave our cries into words, words that give shape to our souls. But most people don’t have the patience to wait for us. Their hearts no longer strain to hear. Life has become too complicated, time too scarce. There are too many voices vying for attention. They want a quick fix, the Cliff Notes version of understanding. They want to understand their own lives.
Still we cry out, only this time into the silence. It is what we, as people, do.