I live in Frampton and call myself a writer because I write stories down.
But we all write stories every day.We write stories, put
ourselves in the centre and call it our life. Sometimes our stories are true,
other times when the all important “I” feels threatened or at risk of exposure,
the stories become distorted.
We may not save the world with heroic deeds but we are the hero
of our own story. Sometimes the greatest courage is plodding through each day
staying true to the small voice within, writing our honest tale word by word and
persevering until the end. But in our cowardice we put on our stories along with
our clothes to hide what is underneath. We disguise the truth that threatens to
overwhelm us. We write a false story and then destroy our true worth trying to
justify the fable we’ve created. Through fear of exposure we remain stuck on the
first page or we make the journey but only from the safety of our heated car.
Occasionally we find the courage to leave the safe interior and allow the icy
February rain to soak through our clothes and tell the true story.
My interest in writing stems from my love of reading. Reading is
an under rated past time as it widens perspective. The reader enters the mind of
another and discovers how we all suffer and experience joy and we all get scared
and confused. It involves dethroning ourselves from the centre of our story
which teaches us greater compassion and understanding. If we have compassion we
enter into somebody else’s perspective and have no need for conflict and
selfishness. We understand if we harm others we harm ourselves. Without
compassion we approach people from a position of separateness and impose our
own thoughts, feelings and prejudices on to them. Only when we feel separate
from others can we be unkind to them.
Stories need ego and conflict but the world needs compassion.
By Diana J Febry.
But we all write stories every day.We write stories, put
ourselves in the centre and call it our life. Sometimes our stories are true,
other times when the all important “I” feels threatened or at risk of exposure,
the stories become distorted.
We may not save the world with heroic deeds but we are the hero
of our own story. Sometimes the greatest courage is plodding through each day
staying true to the small voice within, writing our honest tale word by word and
persevering until the end. But in our cowardice we put on our stories along with
our clothes to hide what is underneath. We disguise the truth that threatens to
overwhelm us. We write a false story and then destroy our true worth trying to
justify the fable we’ve created. Through fear of exposure we remain stuck on the
first page or we make the journey but only from the safety of our heated car.
Occasionally we find the courage to leave the safe interior and allow the icy
February rain to soak through our clothes and tell the true story.
My interest in writing stems from my love of reading. Reading is
an under rated past time as it widens perspective. The reader enters the mind of
another and discovers how we all suffer and experience joy and we all get scared
and confused. It involves dethroning ourselves from the centre of our story
which teaches us greater compassion and understanding. If we have compassion we
enter into somebody else’s perspective and have no need for conflict and
selfishness. We understand if we harm others we harm ourselves. Without
compassion we approach people from a position of separateness and impose our
own thoughts, feelings and prejudices on to them. Only when we feel separate
from others can we be unkind to them.
Stories need ego and conflict but the world needs compassion.
By Diana J Febry.
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