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I am lost in a sea of words that tumble over each other like the tempest of the pacific. Each wave a sentence. Each flurry a quip. The swell of an idea raises me above the waves for a moment before crashing me back down to the valley between the rising mountains. I am a speck amongst giants. The language - this language is too big. Too scary. I cannot control it - I can barely float in it. I need to rise above it and sail it.
And then, off in the distance, I see a boat - a sail made of paper, and a hull of lead. The scout cuts through the ocean of words like a knife, leaving clear and comprehensive statements in it's wake, calming the sea.
A hand reaches down for me, I grasp it, still flowing, still moving. I feel myself pulled along, reading the statements, understanding the language. A voice shouts over my head. I try to listen, but the sea screams at me.
"You need to pull yourself up!" it says "I can show you the way, but you have to climb the words to enter the boat!"
I climb, I scramble, I claw tooth and nail. I am in the boat. I can see the mountainous waves ready to crash and sink the little boat.
The figure in the prow faces the waves boldly. "You need to steer," it says, "you are the writer. You steer the boat."
"I don't know how!" I scream back. "The words are tumultuous - the sentences are broken - the language is in agony. HOW?"
"Find your voice."
So simple. Such a simple idea. Have I been screaming this whole time in my head? Perhaps the reason I am lost in the sea of words is because I haven't been listening to my own voice, been listening to the current I should be following.
I grab the line, I hold the tiller, I open my eyes, my mouth, my heart to the storm.
"I am here. I am ready. Do your worst."
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Love this. Very inspiring.. Steer your own boat..
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