In Shauna Niequist’s book Cold Tangerines (pg 75) she speaks of knowing as a child that writing, and words meant more to her- they were her way of expressing herself much like an artist does with a paint brush or a pen.
Here is what she says, ” When I think about my child-self, my little girl memories, all that little girl wanted to be was a storyteller, a poet, a person who gathers and arranges words like some people gather and arrange flowers. Words are the breakdown through which I see all of life, instead of molecules or notes or chords or colors. Words in even black and white snakes, back and forth across the page, the portals through which a little girl found a big world, and through which, now, a grown-up girl is trying to pass.
When I write, I can see things that I can’t otherwise see, and I can feel things that I can’t otherwise feel. Things make sense, in flashes and glimpses, in me and around me. They unravel themselves and line up into black and white rows, and those rows nourish me, sliding down my throat like noodles.”
Photo Credit: Aaron Burden