May 8, 2014

glory, ghosts and bones.


a list containing three forgotten pieces from an earlier layer of my mind, recently unearthed from my stack of journals and moleksines.

i. glory - the stuff of.
once upon a december - 2013

i am spending the night with thoughts and words and it has been a night of glory and paper. 
it is glorious; to hear the throbbing of your own mind upon the cathedral of your soul. 
it is glorious to tear the fragrance of your memories out of the sky; to find their taste in your thoughts.
and it is glorious to write this glory for God, who has given it to you to absorb into your bones.
i can see the light at the end of this tunnel, because i'm breaking the strings that tie my feathers to the ground.

ii. ghosts - paper & memory.
october fourteenth - 2013 // 10:05 p.m.

i have so many unwritten thoughts on empty pages. they're all in little cages of my head, waiting to be released. 
they're locked away because they only consist of colours and emotions and fragments of words, and i cannot translate them into sanity. 
they do not hold hope, unless i am given a small miracle to unlock their prisons and let them out onto paper. 
but some thoughts are better in captivity.

so i am afraid of ripped pages. they're ghosts.
they are the ghosts of things i fell over and inked and destroyed.
pages of words should live, however juvenile or terrifying the letters are. paper should be black with thought.
words are important to the vividry of life. to write is a last desperate cry for recognition, something to remember when your life has been forgotten. 
and so the unwritten thoughts and ripped pages are the ghosts i carry with me.

iii. bones - the importance of the first draft.
april 21st - 2013

the most important thing i have ever learned about writing is that it doesn't matter if your first draft is crap.
the only purpose of a first draft is to have a thing in existence. something you can build upon; so it doesn't matter if it's too skinny, too juvenile, too dry, or too long. 
because the first draft is only the bones on which you weave the flesh and blood of your stories.
the first draft is a skeleton; let it out of the closet.