I used to think that everyone could read minds except me. I would create false thoughts to put at the forefront of my mind in order to protect my real ones. I would think the same thought countless times and practiced making my mind go blank. Sometimes I still think thoughts that aren't really mine, and I still replay a phrase in my mind several times over, but I can no longer make my mind go blank. The words in my brain are always jumbled from crashing into each other as they race to get out.
I had write a nutshell essay for my English class. In this essay I was supposed to write about a distinct moment in time that describes me as a reader, writer, teacher, or linguist in the making. I told the story I always tell about the four year old girl who snuck into school and cried when she was kicked out. But as I was looking through some of my old work (an easy way out of writing an article) I realized that I probably should have shared another story. Or rather that I had a story that better emphasized myself as a writer.
A few years back I submitted a "poem" for a scholarship. I didn't get the scholarship, but I was asked if the company I sent it into could publish it in a book with a bunch of the other poems they had received. Some of you may remember this — I asked a lot of people for feedback on the poem and it's presentation. In the end I didn't get my poem published in that book, but I knew that I could write words that people would, for some reason, actually buy and read.
This poem I submitted wasn't even supposed to be a poem; I had actually written it a few years earlier while I was just thinking onto a page and thought that it sounded nice enough to submit. Having people read my poem and actually like it was such a strange experience for me; it was kind of like writing for Odyssey. There's this weird sense that people I know are actually reading and thinking about some of the things that go on in my head. They are indirectly reading my mind and I gave them the access.
If you know me then you'd know that I call myself an editor. I've edited since the fourth grade, and while I may not remember all of the grammar stuff, I'm really good at helping people clarify what they've written and develop ideas. Actually writing is still a new idea for me, so in order to honor this new avenue in my life I'd like to share with you all the thinking process that opened my mind to the readers who peer inside of words.
Empty. Isn't that how all things begin?
No, not at all.
But empty is the page with no words, the jar without jam.
They are full of What creates them.
Not on the insides beside that stuff doesn't count!
They are full of potential, a paper holds the unwritten words,
A jar has secret ways to be used that still have to unfold.
Like What? What do these useless things mean?
Nothing is useless nothing at all!
What about me? I'm empty and of no use!
You are full of wonderful things and even though its unclear to us now it will soon reveal itself.
Hmmm...Let me think about that.
