Brandelyn: Lyrical Contradiction

            “I wrote to get the stench of love lost off of my being. I wrote because crying was not sufficient. I wrote basically to save the me I had grown to appreciate. And once again, I found words utterly freeing.” Jill Scott

            Yesterday I got an unexpected surprise. The advance copies of my book finally arrived at my office, even though I wasn’t expecting them until Thursday. When I opened the box, I can’t explain it. I wasn’t as freaked out as I was the first time I saw a copy of my book. I was excited to finally hold it in my hand and I ran right over to my ROSE’s office and gave her a copy, but the mind blowing euphoria that I initially felt wasn’t there this time. I went home yesterday, took the most ridiculous nap known to man and woke up and started thinking. As I sat on my living room floor listening to the new India.Arie album, it dawned on me, that I wasn’t super amped because this was the norm. The level of excitement I felt was normal, and necessary; yes I am excited about this book, no I can’t wait to get it in the hands of as many people as I possibly can, yes this is yet another dream come true, but this is exactly how it should be. I should be getting boxes with copies of my book in them. I should be stressing about book signings and promotion and of course writing, because that’s what I am. I’m a writer.

            It’s funny because I get approached ALL the time by people who are inspired to write a book. I take each approach as a form of flattery because to me, that means that my work has inspired someone to do something greater then themselves, but at the same time, people just don’t know. As with any craft, writing is not easy. You have to be passionate about it. There is a lot of research, editing, digging, reaping, pain, laughter and life that goes into each and every strand of words. It is not just something that can be tossed together and printed out and viola! You have a book. It’s not like that.

This is what I do, what I love, but sometimes, it feels like its too much and I don’t feel like doing it anymore. So I put my pen down, and walk away from it. But every time I do I feel like a piece of me is missing. Like I’m not really Brandelyn unless I have my face in a book, a pen in my hand and a journal in my purse. Its more then just producing books. Its more then just entertaining my readers. It’s about verbally shaking off all of life that is trying to swallow me up and silence me. I can only imagine where I would be if I didn’t have this outlet. Last night, India.Arie said that she used to keep everything bottled up. That she would hold everything inside and practically go crazy until she started writing songs. Once she started writing songs, she was able to express herself and get things out and off her chest. I feel that. I started writing as away to release myself from the hurt of my first love, of a broken dream, of disappointment in myself, of feeling that I would never really be good at something. Yeah, these were selfish reasons initially, but all of the things I was hoping to accomplish with my writing were accomplished. But something even bigger occurred. I know now, that I am a writer. If for no other reason then my own sanity, I am a writer.

“I will write

Ina way that will surprise you

Shock you and offend

Ignite and impregnate

Some

It is the cause and the purpose my sweets

Poets must think and re think

I will write

Ina way that will make you love me

Well some of you

I am thinking

Think too

You must not always agree

You must not believe me higher

I am a poet

This is my job

I will write”

~Jill Scott