The famous late poet, memoirist and civil rights activist, Maya Angelou, is often quoted for…
It is said that everyone has a book inside of them; albeit unwritten for most.
There are probably many reasons as to why those who aspire to write a book don’t get around to it. Shortness of time; being ‘too busy’ with the demands of life; a lack of self-belief or wondering if anyone will ever find their story interesting enough to read.
Although the ‘reasons’ for not writing are numerous; understandable and may be considered entirely ‘human’, the reality is that every published author once started with an idea; sat down with an intention; typed the first word; pushed through weeks and months of writing, fiddling and re-writing about what was in their mind and heart and when ready, took the plunge towards seeking a publisher.
In short, they did the distance required.
Writing a book is a commitment, often with an undetermined outcome if one does not enjoy prior recognition of some kind. It can be a lonely, isolated journey that others do not particularly care about as the hours of grappling with words lengthen. Telling one’s story, irrespective of fact or fiction, takes dedication.
A writer’s dedication may be directed towards acknowledging another; could be rooted in teaching others more about something or may be focused on a particular cause … there are a variety of reasons people choose to write.
There is however, one universal theme. The author finds purpose in what they want to say and share. Their writing resonates with the energy in their soul and it provides a means via which to connect with others.
In sitting down to continue writing the book inside of me, I recognise my desire to share the importance of tapping into our experience of The Now; learning to live with a sense of feeling fully alive and being awake to the truth that it is in how we choose to experience life that we either thrive or survive.
This extract illustrates a moment of realisation:
“As we walk I try really hard to move my mind away from how much we need to still do this week and what a lot there is to be discussed.
I find it hard to stop to look at the view while we chat, but Alice insists.
She points out dewdrops glistening along the patterns of the spiders’ webs on the cool morning ground; shows me where she and her siblings used to go down the hill on their ‘grass boogie boards’ when they were children; took me to where they had dammed up the stream with a wall of rocks to make a pond and showed me the gate they used to go through to reach the wattle forest that led to friends down in the valley below.
As we descend steeply downhill she talks about how, when it was really hot, she and her brothers would take a walk to cool off at the waterfall, only to be boiling hot again by the time they got back to the farm house.
She asks me about my childhood and family and in time, without me realising the shift, I am happily sharing stories and memories I had long since packed away. Forgotten, but for last night’s reminder of the fun we had playing board games together.
Her genuine interest and listening really opens something up in my heart, a bit like a flower stretching out as the sun’s rays provide the warmth of the day. There is lightness in our banter that makes me feel safe and warm inside. As if Alice is part of the stories I am sharing.
And then it struck me.
This is another little ‘ah-ha’ moment of my own. I am right there. My entire being is buzzing with energy. I hardly feel the physical effort during the climb down to and back up from the waterfall.
My senses are awake.
I can hear the silence and the sounds that pierce it when we stop for breath; I can feel the gush of the water as we traverse the rocks below the falls and I can smell and taste the sweet mountain air. I am connected to Alice’s energy in a way that I almost get to ‘touch’ a part of her positive soul.
I am full alive!