DeAnn Louise Daigle AWW 1/13/10
It was the turn of phrase like turning a corner. It was the sound of the word spoken aloud that brought a tingling sensation up my spine, the back of my neck to the frontal lobe. I was awakened. I was awakened.
There’s no quiet explanation for this occurrence. Silence says it best. Yet, the urge remains for me to explain and so to acknowledge that words affect me greatly. I always knew I wanted to write, but write about what? I could never say. It eluded me.
Only when I placed pen to paper would it be revealed what I would write. There’s intense excitement in this for me. But, it’s no way, practically speaking, to earn a living.
Practically speaking, how could I support myself – pay rent, eat, buy clothes – only the necessities, mind you, but they are necessities. This remained for years and years and years the perplexing question.
It wasn’t like being a Beatle – one of the boys in the band, one of a group of singers, song writers – wonderful song writers making wonderful music with their words and musical instruments.
Suddenly becoming famous. Working, working at their art, perfecting and publishing by performing out in the world. Becoming acclaimed – rightfully so – given the excellence of their art and artistry.
No, my writing is much more hidden – not great writing like Dickenson and Poe. Nevertheless, I write my own story, my own experience of my own life and vision and dreaming and hoping and searching and loving and losing and finding and choosing.