Guest Post by Jaclyn Dawn
I struggle to put words in a new pretty book. The pages are so clean and full of potential. Will what stains the pages be poetic, beautiful? Will it tell a story of love or adventure, or both? The possibilities paralyze my pen, for it can also be awful. A waste. Musings of a want-to-be wordsmith, someone turning the new, pretty book into something ordinary. The thought makes me sad to an illogical degree. The new book offers a means for expression and creativity. To be able to express myself is something I crave and have craved since I was in elementary school. I see the world around me in words, letters of the alphabet pushing and shoving to line up in the order that best describes that event, this feeling, those people, or any inspiration. So give me a cocktail napkin or a scrap of paper from the recycle bin. My words will cover every bit. It is the writing that matters. I do not like the pressure of my new, pretty book.