onepinkfuzzy

Donald wants to know: what kind of writing?

What do I want to write? I want to write about me, about you, about running, about nutrition. I want to write about what I know - and what I want to know. I want to write about the powerful effects of Pepsi as a muse. I want to write about the mountains surrounding Tucson, these mountains that have held me, nurtured me, caressed me and nursed me back to health. I want to write about losing and then finding my Voice. I want to write about losing 70 lbs, addiction, about mothers and motherhood. I want to write Lucy’s story. I want to write my story. I want to write a novel, I want to write for magazines, for love, for charity, for work. I just want to write. About my world and how I see it. Why I see it. Because if I can overcome trauma, abuse, depression, etc., then maybe you can too.

Because “I have so many words in my tummy,” as Ash has said.

Because if I don’t let everything bubble up and out, I’ll explode.

Because my brain goes 300 mph and I have to spew it out.

Because I – like all humans – have the primal urge to leave my mark, to say, simply, “I was here.”

I want to shut myself in my room for four hours and bang out shitty first drafts.

I want to learn how to take what bubbles up and form it into paragraphs and chapters and stories and whole books with plot and pacing and a proper beginning and ending.

I want to make you laugh and cry and get goosebumps and maybe even get inspired.

I want to write about my experiments and choices and how and why sometimes they blow up in my face and sometimes they save my world.

I want to write about how you – yes, YOU – are the most important person in your world. How if you take care of yourself, you take care of others.

I want to write about the comfort of Christmas, terror of wood paneling, the knight in the radiator, September harvests of walnuts and hours spent weeding dandelions for a penny a root.

I want to write about the ocean and the salty comfort and hugs and how even to this day as I step into the ocean, I feel her welcoming me home. How all the salt water in me responds to its origins and loves going home. How I could live in the ocean and be happy.

I want to write about flying – circling – doing aerials. Concentrating so hard on what the horizon looks like upside down. How the ocean meets the sky and the sky meets the mountains and the mountains meet the ocean over and over and over again.

I want to write about the vibrancy of Tucson, how we are so alive dancing in the desert, so colorful, so at home, even though there is no ocean.

Maybe I want to write about how I can feel at home anywhere as long as I’m at home in my body.

I want to write about losing sensation in my body, then gaining sensation back. How I went away from my body – those aerials – and how I slowly but surely began re-inhabiting my body, starting with purple feet and ending with my pink fuzzy.

I want to write of the joys of orange, the vibrancy of life and love and friends and family.

I want to outline my book and fill it in.

I want to be creative.

I want to make, shape, speak, absorb, exist and shout.

I want to write.