Let me start by saying that, with respect to Ms. Angelou, there are greater agonies than not being able to write. Death, illness, loss of a job or a home, natural and man-made disasters… The inability to write pales in comparison. When dealing with a personal tragedy, often the last thing a writer worries about is actually writing.
Often. But not always.
Sometimes in the midst of the most heart-breaking circumstances we still think about our story; we continue to write it in our heads when we have no time to sit down with paper and pen, no access to a keyboard, not a moment to ourselves with no relief in sight. Writing is part of the grain of our very soul; as long as there is breath in our bodies, our stories grow, and flourish, and demand release.
Writing consumes us. No matter what terrible ordeal we happen to go through, it’s comforting to know that our writing will always be.
Once we’ve dealt with the mess that currently controls our life, our writing will be.
Once the bad times pass, our writing will be.
When we’re given back our precious time, our writing will be.
It doesn’t go away. It only waits for us.