It Is Written (almost)

I am a writer. I have been a writer for as long as I can remember although it is a skill that I have not always pursued. The depth of my talent came crashing upon me as early as the second grade when my homeroom teacher accused me of plagiarizing a poem I turned in. It was a poem about the four seasons changing hands one to another and then returning again; I do not remember the words it was so many years ago. Being in the second grade, it could not have been a great work that I wrote although it must have been more than nothing to be so young and accused of literary theft. My ability to express what I see and what I feel comes from nothing more than an inherent desire to know what it is that I see and what it is that I feel. These are the things I choose to write about.

For a long time I chose not to write. I remained silent oft so I could hide in the crowds of literary obscurity and yet, most times, I remained silent as a personal vendetta to which I owed my soul. My greatest revenge, or rather selfishness, has always been the silence of my pen. Why should I grace a world of bitterness with anything but the emptiness which it has given me? It has taken many years for me to see the error my way and so, with great resolve, I have shed the dust off my Mont Blanc to bring forth what God has given me. I pray the passing of the words leaves no loss.

Those who have long claimed that the pen is mightier than the sword do not lie. In history, the pen has both brought forth the sword and prevented it. It has established kings and it has dethroned them. It has both created wars and the treaties that stopped them. The reflections of the pen have captured the hearts of lovers and stirred the anger of enemies. Yes, the pen is mightier than the sword; or as I am now fond of saying, “The keyboard trumps them both”. Truly it is written in Proverbs, the power of life and death is in the tongue.

Unfortunately, whatever gift I possess in the creation of written thought is sadly offset by my lack of grammar skills. Pardon the poor structure, I skipped English class a few too many times. I’ve struggled through the basics though I confess my zeal in the matter hasn’t changed much since the early days of school. My apologies to those teachers that suffered me in the class. Undoubtedly there were one or two that passed me to the next grade rather than bear the thought of having to deal with me for another year (the feeling was mutual).

While I’m on the subject of apologies, I should go ahead and make a few of them publicly:

Viva Caughlin (aka Viva Flowers): Yes, I know I didn’t do my English homework in the 8th grade (the 2nd 8th grade that is) but you have to admit, I was/am fluent. One day, I may even find a use for diagraming those sentences. You (and the Mister) were two of the teachers I actually liked.

Mrs. Buell – My 7th grade art teacher: My deepest apologies. It was me throwing paint at your back when you weren’t looking. However, you did steal the wire mesh rabbit that I turned in for my art project. I forgive you, but you should know my brother made that for me.

Sheila Mayer – My junior high school principal
: Sorry for that dirty message I left on your home answering machine – totally not cool of me. And for all that hydrochloric acid in the school hallways, I should probably fess up on that one too. For what it’s worth, you’ll be happy to know I’m almost a productive member of society.

Substitute Teachers – whose names I never bothered to use, much less remember
: I apologize for the liquid paper fights, endless spit-wads, hiding the grade books, lying about the homework assignments and hiding your personal belongings in the overhead ceiling tiles. You were more than worthy of the paycheck you received.

Whew! Glad that’s all off my chest. Moving on….

My two books continue to be a work in progress. I am a bit of an anal-retentive perfectionist so it may be a bit of time. ‘Chaos Called Love’ hasn’t been updated in a while and the ‘yet to be named publicly’ book has also taken a backseat to more current matters. I think I may retire to Island X for a few days retreat to get my literary bearings straight. To those who follow this grammatical mess that I call a blog, thank you, best wishes and stay tuned – the best is always yet to come.

One Response to It Is Written (almost)

  1. Linda

    February 15, 2010 at 4:36 am

    We were more radical. We turned loose thousands of seed ticks in the school air vents. They had to dismiss school. Blew up the toilet plumbing in the boys bathroom by chunking cherry bombs (now illegal) in the toilets. Turning armadillos loose in the hallways. Sit in the day after Kent State shootings and class walk outs/protests. That was at Conroe, Texas. More fun was Bellaire High in Houston. We had a cool principal who believed kids outgrew their rebelliousness and he never allowed cops on campus without warrants. He’d say those are my kids and this is private property, you are not welcome on my property. He let us have rock concerts once a year. We had our own yogi guru and smoked pot on the football field. He let the art class paint the wooden shacks with hippie art. Ahhh, the good ol’ days.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *