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Why I Write

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“A cyclical addiction that I cannot deny,

I am lured by the mixing of reality with hope. I binge on the emotion, wallowing in its depth. The endorphins give me the texture, enable the distorted visions, and find the purpose in tragedy. Touching the places in the soul that are held private; protected.

The motion is not graceful and feels sudden when I urgently purge all of these senses onto the canvas. Notebook after notebook of scratches, words barely legible in the intoxication of the moment. Moving the pen to the muse – allowing her to torment me, taunt me, into motion. Purging what I have not only felt, but also seen, heard, touched, tasted, believed and was betrayed.

The cycle continues with the shame. The guilt of vanity – did I really think I could do this? The fear. Failure to touch a single soul. Failure to convey what was mine and is now yours. The crash. The hangover. The editor. Swooping in to fill my head with the pounding of doubt. The sun that filled my spirit with joyous motion has turned to burn the scars and remnants of urban, modern, social, responsible realities.

Yet, the gnawing in my gut stirs again. Am I hungry? I sneak away for a taste in solitude. I am as a child in the corner, anxious and watching the world’s motion speeding by. I begin to fill up on the moment, the passion, the fear. I succumb to swim in the poetry and let the words dance about my spirit. I greedily digest every emotion without inhibition knowing I will have to throw it all up to the universe. Pay the toll. And hope to become hungry again.”

Prose by Mardra Sikora

Published in the Summer 2012 Fine Lines Journal

Why do you write?

 

 

Prescription for All Artists

David Martin, Fine Lines founder, writer, and teacher prescribes every artist to watch this video of Neil Gaiman’s 2012 Keynote address now, and again, whenever you need a shot in the arm.

Mr. Gaiman goes beyond giving you, yes you, permission to create. It is a call to action. You! Create!

Do not doubt your mission, watch and then go. act.

What did you think?

We are anxious to read what you do next.

 

 

 

The Story of Fall by Lizzie Kelleher

I threw myself so hard into Fall that I didn’t have time to see December coming. Before I’d been sitting on the docks with my feet dangling in salty water, and my eyes were closed. I felt content here, watching the pinks and oranges dance behind my lids. I plopped my big toe into the sea and watched a ripple form, bigger and bigger, never ending. I love the sea. I love the idea of mermaids and rosy coral breathing in the deep. Summer’s fingers were combing my hair, bleaching the curly ends out with sun. A seagull flew in the distance. A chill stirred in the air. Summer shivered.

“Fall’s coming,” Summer said, with eyes in slits. I threw myself up and peered around, to see if fall was really there, but fall was just a distant shadow, and like a bat circling the sky, it soon vanished. The chill left the air, and Summer smiled again.

“C’mon,” Summer grabbed my hand, “We’re swimming.” Summer jumped off the dock, and I looked down at my hand, and it was so hot, it burned.

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