Words. Each little one is a treasure I get to dig out of a memory, an idea, a distant imagination. It’s like panning for gold in a cold and beautiful Californian stream. Sifting through the silt, pebbles and decaying vegetation to find just the right glimmering and sparkling word that will suit my purpose perfectly.
Sometimes my words come slowly, piece by piece and I’m never sure what I’ll find next. Like dew drops that have mostly vanished away in the warm sunshine, yet a few still remain. These sentences take a painfully long time to form, yet in the end I know they’ll be breathtaking.
Sometimes my words come in a steady, refreshing stream like the cooling mist from a waterfall and I’m continually picking away at the keyboard, keeping my fingers in tune with the light but constant flow of words. These sentences are refreshing, keeping me busy but not swamping me.
Sometimes my words come in a deluge, like a raging storm, plinking down on me and forcing my fingers to fly faster as they try to grab ahold of the words and capture them before they fall through my grasp and are lost forever. These sentences fly onto the page with such rapidness that when I’m done with a writing session I feel accomplished, but oh so tired.
Sometimes my words are like an ocean, surrounding me, overwhelming me, beating against me. I’m left gasping for air as I try to make sense of the millions of words that stretch as far as the eye can see and I have to fight against the current and make it back to the shore. Once at the shore the words will be able to rush toward me with the tide, but not overcome me.
Words. They are a gift. They are important. They are a huge part my world. They swirl around me constantly, begging to be captured. To be used. To bring life. I am a word-crafter, and you can be one, too.
Death and life are in the power of the tongue, And those who love it will eat its fruit.