Wordsmith
What does a wordsmith do? We take words, place them on an anvil and hammer them to do our bidding. We heat or cool them to make them pliable and hard. We use them like glass to cut to the core. We use them like raindrops to soften a blow. We take words and merge them with other words thus creating a new bridges to close the gaps. Most of all the wordsmith uses words to shout out "Here I am world."
Wordsmith
A wordsmith is a person who can craft words into both delicate sweet flowers and piercing metal swords.
Someone who can craft their words into both fire and rain.
They can make you feel loved, or they can make you feel hate. They can make you feel alive they can make you feel as if you wanted to die.
But most important of all, they can help change minds, hearts, and souls. Even if it is just though a work of fiction.
A wordsmith can both take a life, and save a life.
The pen, and the sword are in their hands.
Come Again
Describe my what to you? A little personal for a first date, don't you think? I mean seriously, what's your height and weight? How about I bear my soul to you, slam it down on this table, let you meander through it, here's a few pages of my journal when you get to it.
What do you mean I started this? This isn't my conversation.
Oh, my writing, describe my writing is what you're saying.
Well it's a little all over the place if I'm being honest. It's a lot like late night conversations with strangers who don't have any faces.
"Check please."
Fade Into You
Once upon a time, there was a young girl. She was quite odd and passionate about unusual things. She loved to write-- and that was where she kept all her strange ponderings, never sharing. She met a man. The most beautiful and spellbinding creature she had ever encountered. She had no idea that kinds such as these existed.
They began their friendship with written correspondence. They discussed the deepest of topics, always the things that were steeped in their minds, mired in their marrow. She learned his joys and his hurts. What he lived for and that for which he'd die. She glimpsed his soul and soon fell deeply in love with him.
He, on the other hand, did not love her. She was like a curious sea shell that he happened upon. One he picked up, turned over slowly in his hands, examined closely, marveled at the uniqueness... and then promptly threw it back into the roaring sea. It was interesting enough, but it lacked his prerequisitional aesthetic qualities that would have made it a keeper. As she sank into the deep and the strong currents took her away, the man continued to walk, perusing the shell-littered beach.
Much time passed. Hindsight took his handsome face in both her hands and offered him a clearer perspective. He sought out and eventually found the girl he disregarded. She still loved him deeply. He gave her the nickname "Mazzy". And to this day, she still writes to him from her odd and passionate perspective.