Uncut

I have always wondered what it must be like to write a song. Of course when I was little I told myself I would have an all girl band and penned incredibly amateur little rhymes. However since I have no talent with any kind of musical instrument, or a pleasant singing voice my ambitions stopped there. That is not to say I ever stopped experiencing situations I wanted to write about. I had always identified with the written word, I just saw no vocation in which I could express it. After a brief stint attempting to be similar to Harriet the Spy, I decided I wanted to be an actress. If I could not sing my emotions perhaps I could still act them out onstage. Desperately trying to find my niche I experimented for many years in plays and independent films, model auditions and the like. However while these endeavors did allow me to showcase myself to the world, I was not truly portraying myself, the message was not my own. 

In my college years I rediscovered my love for my own written work, the countless essays that were so tedious to others, to me opened up new windows for self expression. I had always possessed stories my friends delighted in hearing, vicariously they lived through my every adventure. Then it occurred to me, this was my calling. To write my stories, to entertain the masses with my own words, not sung or acted but carefully crafted in my cavernous mind and set to paper. My decision to write a book was welcomed with open arms by all those who were well aware of my plethora of material to discuss. However I knew the seriousness of my formal endeavor to capture my voice into a text would be a lengthy one. I began compiling stories and notes, influences and facts into a scrapbook, but the whole procedure still felt very private. I knew I wanted a more interactive way to showcase my work, far too impatient to wait for the completion of the memoir I would rehearse until perfection. Enter the world of blogging.

Now blogging is not a new concept, I was hip to the idea of an online diary back in my teens, and used it as such. However blogging has now taken on a new form, it is the most up to date way to convey written information, and I am a happy participant reveling in the response to my work. My scrapbook has now come alive, all are invited to see what will one day be formulated into the pages of my memoir, the benefit of such preliminary input is invaluable. 

Recently I was forced to take down some of my most tender work, passages I took time to create, infused with genuine experience and revelation, a turning point I identified with and wanted to share. The finished product of a blog is truly my art. It is the same as the passionate nature that songs possess, usually taken from personal anecdotes and moments of growth. An artist I completely condone who is constantly accused of writing the exploits of her relationships with men is Taylor Swift. The detail she cleverly incorporates into the catchiest of songs is immensely admirable. She is an artist not shy in sharing every intimate detail of her former lovers, creating a far more honest depiction than they would prefer. But somehow even John Mayer who was called out by name was powerless to remove her songs, her stories of their time together. I fail to see the difference in relating stories by songs or text, no one has the right to tell me what I can do with my art. 

But my voice will never be silenced, no matter the great lengths taken to do so. For the first time I feel myself as an artist, creating work that has the power to influence, to relate to some, to hurt, to impact the lives of others. All I can say is, you should have known.