The words shape the writer (the day I first found FC and words).
It was very sad and lonely and dark.
He was very quiet and meek and humble.
He didn’t have any sort of personality, but he was not a zero.
He was a something, but not a particular sort of something.
He was a vague, weirdly shaped blob of stuff−stuff that wobbled and oozed and blobbed and jellied.
He felt so amazed at the edges suddenly appearing around him−edges shaped with words. Edges shaped with words that fell from his fingers and fell on to the floor and stuck to the walls and dripped from the ceiling.
The words shaped him.
The words shaped the world around him.
The words shaped his breathing.
The words shaped his mind.
The words gave him a shape.
I am Mike he said.
I am me!
I am a person!
I am not a blob!
I am a feeling, thinking person!
I have thoughts!
They are my thoughts!
I have a heart!
I can feel!
I am a person who is happy or sad or gross or sweet!
I am my thoughts!
I am my words!
I am!
I am!
I am!
Writing is a magical tool. I like to write about things that have affected me, now and in the past. It is therapeutic. I also like writing fiction. It’s an escape and a different life for me.
Living through fantasy is great.
