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Where Paper Meets Pen ✍🏾
"A SLAY ON WORDS" © Dec. 2017
"Word's power slayed & had me at hello. Pensively voicing its vocab through the powerful pen of my mind, flowing fountains of vibes cerebral, deep was word's lexicon, drip-dropping sweetly the ink of its verbal libations all over the reams of my soul."
By: Charisse Arrington
Coming Soon FLOWETRY
By: CHARISSE ARRINGTON
"JOURNEY TO THE ENDS OF THE WORDS"
Written by Charisse Arrington
I am not exactly sure when my courtship with writing began. I can only say that I can't seem to remember a time when it was not with me.
I also remember when just a tot in Head Start, I was a stickler for being able to both speak and write my ABC's perfectly. In those early years, I can still recall how my heart's joy felt as if it would burst out of its seams, with me cheerfully skipping all the way home, rocking a proudly pinned, spelling bee awarded badge to my chest, along with penmanship certificate in hand. I was so excited to share the news with my parents, knowing they would take a piece of sticky tape and display on refrigerator for all to see.
Feeling peacock proud, my folks usually gave me and my siblings some special kind of incentive whenever we were the recipient of a job well done. Needless to say, the word 'incentive' was something that fueled my motivation. But mostly, I just loved to make my parents smile.
I also loved that my parents would sometimes allow me to write out short notes on their behalf and/or sign their names on Birthday, Christmas and other cards of acknowledgment. And then there were all the awesome teachers who helped to nurture and shape my creative abilities, along with the many classmates who also encouraged my writing aspirations to take flight.
Oh yes, it was a good life. Because, in return for my writing out class notes for fellow students, I would reap all kinds of free stuff or swap items I wanted for the favor. While not bragging, if I do say so myself, I did compose some of the most eye-popping, bedazzling class notes and outlines a fifth grader ever did write. Sigh. If only I had realized back then, I probably could have had myself a cool little money making afterschool business. Oh well, that boat has obviously sailed elsewhere.
I was a walking, reading rainbow with a palate for digesting the food of knowledge. To the moon was my discovery for the world of words, that formed into sentences, which flowed into paragraphs, inking the beauty of its journey onto pages that materialized into books.
My dad, one of my favorite wordsmith's, had a vast and beautifully lush vocabulary. He gave me a new word to learn every day and was the first to introduce me to his favorite wordsmith, Webster's Dictionary. Instantly entangled in the joy of Webster's web, I too was head-over-heels for word power books, word puzzles, spelling bees, round robins, debate clubs, etc. You could bet, if had anything to do with the expressive wrangling and dispensing of words– sign me up please.
As my inner scribe continued to evolve, I developed a hungry appetite for pouring out the lexicon of creative songs, speeches, essays, all sorts of poetic language and once-upon-a-time short-stories.
Yet, oddly enough, my syllabic taste seemed to have a slight aversion to living solely on the usual sheet of paper or customary notepad. Nope. My words sought out unusual canvases to display their form. Unfortunately, these were spaces and places adults felt them not to belong. Clothing, sidewalks, walls, furniture, and even the floors in my parent's home claimed the residence of my conversational marks. Needless to say, my behaviors didn't sit well with my parents and earned me the rewards of unwelcome parental restrictions. When my parents would ask me, what made me want to write all over the walls? I'd simply point my finger at the words, saying, "the words made me do it!" I'm sure my toes and fingers were crossed when I said most of that stuff. My folks, who were not buying any of my shenanigans, would often say, 'They may have not been born yesterday, but they also weren't born last night.' Clearly, my parents had a live wire for a kid on their hands. Thank God they loved me and braved that period of my life and decided to keep me anyway (lol).
While I was good at being creative, an escape artist I was not. So, off to chore city I went with what starting becoming my usual broom, mop, pail and bucket weekend attire. Spend many of my days scrubbing and cleaning up the evidence of my artistic imprints left behind, caused me more than a few grumbles. Tsk! Dare I say, I felt my artistry being stifled. I mean, how could people not understand that this was the craft of my inner genius at work? Lucky for me, that in time, I eventually found a way to put my writing to good career usage.
Though comical, something tells me even if only in a tiny way, my marking contributions somehow added to the inspiration which helped inventors come up with the idea to create erasable markers and washable crayons. Could it be possible I am owed some back royalties via the Crayola folks? Hmm? 'Sharpie' minds wanna know? I gotta a feeling that ship has sailed too :)
You are so gifted Charisse! Your words are so beautiful and exude all that you possess...immense light and energy of infinite greatness! What a gift you are. My heart is filled with gratitude overflowing!
S. Sittner -
Mindfulness Meditation Instructor
WHAT PEOPLE ARE SAYING
“GURL, You Should Write A Novel. Please Publish Your Book!”
– Dr. Carolyn G. Anderson
Influencer, Author Speaker Coach