Writing

I have spent the last few weeks writing a new story.  I love writing. I've written in another post that I am childless by choice.  I also don't have an expectation of having children either.  I knew in high school that I didn't want to have children.  My sisters wanted to have children and have families; I wanted publication. Since I have a hereditary condition that cause procreation in my life to be nearly impossible, I just decided that  I wasn't going to give myself grief over it.  I am okay with it.

I became okay with life through writing.  I have always done this as far back as I can remember.   Words are pretty to me.  They are pretty to me in a way that sunsets and flowers are pretty to painters.  They are pretty to me in the same way that muscle cars, lightning strikes, and roaring fires are pretty.  Words draw me in like life on fire.  I love words.

Words have always been my friends.  I never had an imaginary friend whom I didn't want to publish and immortalize.  In a sense, my imagination is my favorite playground.  I have been spending some time creating in the past few weeks and have been really happy doing so.  I have been so happy about it that I have now blogged through my phone.

I think words are prettier than some colors.  I just love words.