Writing Is As Difficult As ...

In a writing workshop yesterday, we did a free write to the prompt: Writing is as difficult as ... 

The purpose was to reveal our natural diction. In seven minutes, my words, according to L. McKenna Donovan, revealed:

I write about relationships.
I write in the abstract.
My themes are absolute.
I write like a person in her 20s with experience beyond that age. (Translate: I cuss. Probably lean toward sarcasm.)

Now, to be a better writer, the idea is to *not* write characters using your natural diction because they aren't you. Okay, fair enough. I'll work on it.

BTW, if you want to know what I wrote, I might consider emailing that directly, if you ask nicely. I'm not posting it here.

Flash vs. Free

Flash fiction: write for a specific time/word count.

Free write: just write and don't look back.

Either way, it's open-road writing. Thinking lately of some lyrics where the words match so closely to one another, they demand active listening:

Walking down from home to unknown.
Working down my own to unformed.
Walk in, drowned for more to unfold.
Waking in down, holding my own.

Fun. Something there.

God is in The Writing

End of last post: If I believed in God.

Rephrase: Where is God?

Mary Oliver, poet, wrote: "Tell me, what will you do with your wide and precious life?"

Is there God? More specifically, where do you find God, or its lowercase version? In this, the writing, there is some God-bound reality. Do I believe in God? Not in a physical diety, soluble or insoluble being. So where is it/he/she/them? In the writing?

It is the search. The conscious wandering. I write to know. Write to understand. To dream, to please. And to connect with something other than myself.