Much like heirloom jewelry, the words of our stories are vessels of treasured value. As our stories are written, we have the task of making keepsakes out of them and tucking them away to reflect on through the years. When our stories become memories, we must string the words of life together like a strand of pearls are carefully strung to make a complete necklace. Each pearl represents a time, a place, a person. The ideas that words throughout life can carry such an impact and resemble some of the most precious of times gives me something to look forward to treasuring, like a piece of fine jewelry.
When I was younger, I would write stories. They were often prompted as an assignment in grade school, but sometimes I would scribble out a story out of boredom in study hall. I remember writing one story that, in the back of my head, I thought would be published one day. It was supposed to be a chapter book, and the story revolved around a young boy waiting to receive a letter from his father who was in the war. To make a long story short, the letter would never arrive, the boy would grow into a man and live his life always wondering why the letter never came or whatever happened to his father. I still have the unfinished story in a folder hidden in my room. I saved it not in hopes of ever finishing it nor publishing it, but as a reminder; a reminder that just because a particular story never received its proper ending did not mean I could not move forward in pursuing my love for writing.
I never considered myself as being an overly creative person. Arts and crafts were never my favorite things to do, nor did I relish in the idea of taking a concrete idea and somehow morphing it into an abstract representation. I remember a high school assignment required reading a book of my choosing and rather than writing the typical book report I was hoping for, I had to create an artistic display of the story being told. For the book I chose, Icy Sparks, I took an interest in the personal rhetoric of Icy and the story she was telling. Without ruining the book, I picked out her interests and every single label she and others placed on herself. I turned this assignment into a three-dimensional typographic display of a story from start to finish. Once I carefully made flags of words that meant something to Icy, I realized words could be art on their own. They did not need glitter to shine; they add sparkle all on their own.
As it turns out, words have become my favorite art form. Through writing, I have found my creative niche. Each week, I have the opportunity to document my journey and tuck away a keepsake. From my childhood stories to my writing assignments, I have ended up here in this moment. It is far from a masterpiece, but all artists have to begin somewhere. I will look back at my collection of writing and be happy I saved them. It does not matter that some are unfinished or downright bad; all that matters is that all the same, good or bad, they were kept. A beloved necklace does not get tossed because of a broken clasp. I would rather have a jewelry box of well-worn jewelry than a jewelry box of jewelry for looks. A collection of writing does not have to be perfect; a piece of writing shows effort, thought, and wonder.
The fullness in my heart after writing makes it seem like everything is right with the world at that moment. Nothing could ever replace the joy I have found in writing, and the bond of words cannot be broken. Just as I have fallen in love with words, the story they tell is mine to treasure and wear. So as I string them all together, I know my story will be beautiful because words are beautiful.
©Inquisitive Perspectives 2016