Hear Me

Did you hear that? That was me breathing a huge sigh of relief. The River of Small Stones month is done! Ahhhhhhhh... I think I can understand how caged lions feel. After a month of reigning in my writing, of wrestling words down to mere essence of meaning, I feel restless and ready to spring. I feel as though I've been stuck in a cage and I'm finally allowed to roam free. Now that the savanna is all mine, where to go and what to do first? Go all ravenous on a wildebeest, I think.

I did learn from participating in the Small Stones adventure. It helped me focus. It helped me cull one moment out of my day and (hopefully) get that moment across to my reading audience like a little bouillon cube of flavor from my life. It made me reassess words and how I use them when I write. To go from paragraphs to a couple of sentences and still make it meaningful is nearly daunting. There were days I slaved over those few sentences longer than I've slaved over an eight paragraph post.

Being the sort of artist that kind of runs at creative endeavors completely unrestrained, I learned that controlling my art is not necessarily equal to limiting my art. Even so, after a month of meting out my writing, and two months of creating nothing but cards, I am feeling pent up. I am ready to unfuckingleash! Let me out of the zoo; let me run wild; let me rip the wildebeest to shreds; let me roar long and deep into the night.

If this were a small stone, I would say:
I am writer. I am artist. Hear me.