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Using my 40's as a do-over for my thirties, only smarter. I often mistake the bees and honey reference with the one about free milk and a cow. This might explain my whole life.

Saturday, February 06, 2010

words

Sometimes I wonder how I can call myself a writer. My words are not eloquent. My thoughts are not deep. My experiences not unique.

I am nothing special. I will never write a great novel about overcoming adversity or reaching the impossible dream. Chances are, I will never put an erotica submission together for one of Rachel Kramer Bussel's anthologies. I read other peoples words and I wonder- why was I not gifted with such beautiful language?

My dear friend @Mollena just twittered this:

Jasmine trees are blooming & even in this evening's chill they are so beautiful to smell & elicit memories complex as cartographs of my heart.

In 140 characters she has made me wonder, "what memory is this? Why is it complex? What is it about?" Cartographs? My simple brain would have said "map" even thought I know that just the word brings up a different feel. Words like blooming, chill, elicit, cartographs. A good vocabulary separates the simple from the truly beautiful.

Maybe someday I will get there, but until then- I will simply envy those that do.

1 comment:

Rachel said...

Julie, just so you know, I feel that way - well, not all the time, but plenty of the time. Really. Keep writing!