The first time I fell in love, it was with dance. The notion of movement and music coming together to produce something new and altogether elevated delighted and moved me. The second time I fell in love, it was with … Continue reading
As an only child for seven years, writing was one of my first companions—after stuffed animals and Barbie dolls, that is. And unlike my imaginary friends (of which I had many), words were tangible and ostensibly powerful. Even then I loved that words are adaptable to any situation; and there are always more to discover and add to my collection. Finding a fantastic new word is like receiving a gift from a secret admirer—and the gift suits you perfectly—a new possession so apt it feels old.
As an adult, I still enjoy playing with words. They can be as supple as Play-Doh and as solid as Legos. Words are conducive to both the serious and the light. They can make you think, make you angry, make you laugh, or make you cry.
Writing is alchemy. It is mysterious magic—conjuring ideas, characters, landscapes and more out of mere syllables—willing something into existence out of loops and lines and curves. Starting movements, forging history, testing paradigms with nothing but words.
Writing is the path, the destination, and the journey. It is an act of perpetual exploration and discovery. It is the vehicle—a means of moving to new and unexplored regions of imagination and reality. It is a mirror, a microscope, a rhythm, and a melody. Quite simply: writing is everything.
Dear plane neighbor on JetBlue Flight number 949 from JFK to Grenada: I know that what I said was sorry, but that’s not what I meant literally. As a writer, I take words somewhat seriously, so I feel the need … Continue reading
I walk a fine line between words. On the one hand I believe they have power—great power. Words can hurt and heal. They can start wars and negotiate peace. Words can evoke memories and inspire imaginations. They communicate ideas and … Continue reading