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I have stories in my head. All day long, I'm thinking of things to write about. I see a lonely man walking down the street, I have an article forming in my head about how we could help people. I'm in the shower, I'm working on my latest narrative story. I'm in English class, I'm taking things from there and twisting them into a new idea and piece of writing. But, I recently began to question my sanity.
Is a person mad when they are constantly writing, even without pen and paper, keyboard and fingers? If you always hear and see stories and scenes in your mind, have you gone off the deep end? I was scared. I quit writing. My notebook, once overflowing with pieces, was shoved under old assignments, my writing pen placed between two text books. The songs that used to inspire me were replaced with a new type of music. I decided I had changed.
But I was sad. I missed my pen, the familiar burning after writing for so long. Some things in my notebook will never be revealed, not even to a computer, but I still want to write them down. Those ideas have become apart of me. And so, writing and I reunited. Just like piano, where I shimmer, I reconnected with something I loved dearly. It feels nice again, to be scribbling down things on sticky notes, and murmuring to myself how I will kill off a character, only to replace them by a ghost.
That's what I love. I'm constantly making notes in my head to keep stored in memory until the time is right, until the idea is ready to be developed even more. I take pride in my writing, my pieces, and I enjoy it. So much. And you know what? I love being mad. If this type of thing makes me crazy, then so be it. I love it. I love the voices in my head, the people in my stories yelling, the words flowing around in there. My mind is a mad house, and it is the most wonderful feeling ever.
I absolutely love being insane. It makes me inspired.
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