Big things

When I write of things they become small, but as I was living them they were no little matter. The experience is somehow bigger than life and the telling of it smaller than the very words on the page. As the description of a great work of art could never match the beauty of seeing or hearing or the experiencing of it. The love is so much greater in the doing of something than in the recording of it. But so great is the experience that I feel compelled to attempt the impossible and capture its essence with words. This is only possible when the reader allows the words to kindle the fire of the imagination and in doing so breathe life into the narrative giving it a beauty and meaning unique onto itself. So I toil on with my feeble writing in hopes and with confidence that you the reader can turn my little words into something greater and more powerful than I alone can create.

When I write of things that have never happened allowing my imagination to create fiction larger than my reality allows stories grow quite large from nothing more than my meager experience. The more I write the more I find it is nearly impossible to keep these two worlds apart. History becomes an illusion of the mind as does beauty depend on the vision beheld.