Gripping Black the Beginning…

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Writing is an innate part of who I am. It floods my being, squeezes my heart and strikes chords that exist deep within my psyche. Writing is all encompassing. When any writing tool hits a surface to bleed thoughts, life pauses. Breaths slow or quicken and hearts either stop or speed up. For those in love with the art, it releases in them endorphins that shoot through the blood and tickle their every fancy until nothing, but pure pleasure remains as words flow. Whether it’s a trickle or a tidal gush of inspiration, from you’re writing all is well with the world.

I struggled, in titling this blog. I had idea after idea running amok in my head. I’d ask opinion after opinion, when a”profound” title jumped out at me. I’d listen to thoughts of my opinion and eventually come up with reasons that title could never work. Public Relations I was told, aims at grabbing the reader firstly and that’s what I needed, but I didn’t want a title that would set my readers up for disappointment. So I crawled back to the drawing board, throwing mental papers in bins and scratching out useless nouns and verbs that in my mind were placeholders. I felt lost. In thought. Translation. Life.

I wanted to do so much, needed to accomplish and be successful as a youth, but I was afraid. Terrified of stepping out, taking the necessary risks and putting myself on the line for failure. I wanted to do so much, but I was afraid of not achieving anything. Dilemma loud. I sat, staring at the wall in front of me, letters on the keyboard and doodles on wood.

I was a gongoozler. Idly watching my life go by. A spectator of events, past, present and yet to come? Drafting visions of overspent days buried in thought. It gripped me then. I don’t have to have a perfect title. I just have to write. I just have to output the echelons of my mind. I just have to not quit. False starts happen, losses and outright failures, but why not just use such circumstances to produce pieces of writing too? It gripped me then. Fingers on neck squeezed. Tightened. Scratched. Breath slowing. Lips blue. Throat dry.

It gripped me then and I scribbled the word…gripping as thoughts faded black

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