I had someone ask me once if I am paid for all the blogging that I do. No I am not, though I would love to eventually be paid for my efforts. I often wonder if I am a good writer, if my words have any impact at all, or if I am wasting my time and my words are a waste of space. However, my insecurity has never been so much that I would do away with the desire to place my thoughts on paper.

I have always loved to create. For as long as I can remember, I have been a storyteller, a griot in my own right. Words are life and the ability to paint a picture using words is a talent that so few have. I wake up each day with a barrage of thoughts in my mind; each one competing with the next in hopes that I will pick up the pen and put them down.

My writing has always been a release for me; a way to apply salve to wounds that no one sees. Toni Morrison once said “If there is a book that you want to read, but it hasn’t been written yet, you must be the one to write it.” I believe that wholeheartedly. There is no way that such beautiful poetry, such heart wrenching prose, can not be meant for the world to read and enjoy. I hear people say that no one reads anymore. I beg to differ. I know that there are readers awaiting the next great masterpiece.

I said all of that to say this–I love to write. I am a writer because I know it in my soul. I am always transparent, raw, honest, and loving when I write. I want to help someone to be free, I love to share information, I love to entertain, I love to tell stories. Why? It is who I am . I am unapologetic about my love of written language. As days turn to months and months turn to years, I find that I am falling in love with writing even more. I am who I am.

 

Peace, Love, and Light,

Andre’a