To Write is to Bleed

This morning I sat down with thoughts to talk about The Hunger Games. Discuss characters or even write a book review. That didn't work out so well as I'm much too excited about Catching Fire coming out in November and talking to a friend about the books last night only heightened my level of fangirling. Every thought is ending in "Oh my goodness....I can't even....aaahhhhh!" So you can see how that post would be relatively short and hard to understand. :P

*cough* So, now that I've got that out of my system, lets move on to more important matters, shall we?

This week has been a week of editing and writing and reading. There's something so beautiful and magical about the written word. It's creating something of nothing, turning those thoughts and ideas into people and places and scenarios.

I love how we can create other worlds with our words. Have you ever read a really good book where you feel as if you know the characters personally, as if their pain is your pain? Have you ever been so in love with a story that you laugh and cry and smile along with the charries?

Sometimes reading a novel is like peeking through a window into the author's heart. As writers we put pieces of ourselves in each of our charries. Just like anything else, we bring our experiences, our hurt, our joy, our worldview into our imaginary worlds, painting a picture so vivid. That's when we can see the brokenness mending before our eyes and the tears turning to jewels on our cheeks. Through the author's pain we learn.

Here's a poem I wrote on this very subject a while ago:

To Write is to Bleed

A knife that stabs

The blade, flesh it grabs

The cutting edge mars the path

To your heart leaving sorrow and wrath

From the wound a flow of blood

Through the agony comes a bud

It blossoms golden from the gash

Its fragrance sweet through the ash

The crimson stream that runs amiss

Blots the page like a soft kiss

The quill of hurt paints a picture

Your eyes hid from others’ stricture

Behind the ink you hide your face

The salty tears from pain in that place

Mix with the red flow coloring the sheet

Speaking of your perilous feat

The blood and the tears drip and dance

Forming words that scream of a chance

To show the world who you really are

That their heartless expressions scar

Finally your heart has healed

The scab has been peeled

Now a book all can read

To write is to bleed

I know this wasn't one of my longer insightful post but I hope it holds you over until next week. ;)