Pen to paper

     I squinted by the flickering candlelight bent on finishing the story I was writing. I began this piece months ago never realizing how much I had to say. Day after day and into the darkness I toiled with words that sometimes came easily, while other times I just sat and tried to capture anything. I had a million words that formed sentences which meant something to me but would someone else get my meanings? Or would I be called a want to be a  writer? I had to dig deep at times coaxing the words and characters to come alive on the paper begging to be read. Other times I just guided the pen as it raced across the endless sheets of paper not certain of where they came from? I suppose all writers experience moments of great achievement and great disappointment as they strive to tell their stories to a group of readers who can make or break them with one bad review. I don't write for the reader as much as I write for myself. With each story, I tell I read it many times trying to figure out how all these words got into my head and then onto paper? Is it some magical connection between me and a writer from my past, or is it just an ability to unscramble mere thoughts into something clear and with meaning? Whatever the reasons I am glad it has happened to me allowing me to open doors I never knew existed until I sat down in flickering candlelight and put pen to paper.
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