for a love for writing

Best Websites and Online Resources for Students and Other Academics

noreply@blogger.com (namae) — Thu, 17 Sep 2009 09:38:00 +0000

Best Websites and Online Resources for Students and Other Academics

Description: Best Websites: Top Most Helpful Websites for Education and Research.
Notes/Clip: Educational and Useful Websites: A Help for Students and Researchers in the Internet Age
Review:
Also Great for Writers researching online!

Top 10 (and more) Best Poems Ever Written

noreply@blogger.com (namae) — Mon, 14 Sep 2009 09:13:00 +0000

Best Poems of All Time

My Top 10 Favorite Classic Poems (Inspirational Poems)

Desiderata - by Max Ehrmann
If - by Rudyard Kipling
Let These Be Your Desires - by Khalil Gibran
Auguries of Innocence - by William Blake
Ode to Autumn - by John Keats
Death - by John Donne
Do Not Go Gentle into that Good Night - by Dylan Thomas
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening - Robert Frost
Oh Captain! My Captain! - by Walt Whitman
Invictus - by William Ernest Henley

I have 2 more Favorite Poems...

Youth - by Theodore Roosevelt
The Rainbow - by Susan Jane Hobbs

My Top 5 Fovorite Love Poems (Poems about Love)

She Walks in Beauty - by Lord Byron
Shall I Compare Thee to a Summer's Day (Sonnet 18) - by William Shakespeare
How Do I Love Thee - by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Love Is Not Love Which Alters When It Alteration Finds (Sonnet 116) - by William Shakespeare
Love's Philosophy - by Percy Bysshe Shelley

The best poems ever :)
_

Poetry: Invictus by William Ernest Henley

noreply@blogger.com (namae) — Thu, 13 Aug 2009 07:18:00 +0000

Invictus (by William Ernest Henley)

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance,
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance,
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears,
Looms but the Horrow of the shade,
And yet the manace of the years
Finds, and shall find me unafraid.

It matters not how straight the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate;
I am the captain of my soul.

~ William Ernest Henley
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Poetry: Oh Captain! My Captain! by Walt Whitman

noreply@blogger.com (namae) — Thu, 13 Aug 2009 06:59:00 +0000

Oh Captain! My Captain! (by Walt Whitman)

Oh Captain! My Captain! Our fearful trip is done;
The ship has weather'd every rack, the price we sought is won;
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting;
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring;
But oh heart! Heart! Heart!
Oh the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

Oh Captain! My Captain! Rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up - for you - the flag is flung - for you the buggle trills; 10;
For you bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths - for you the shores a'crowding;
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Captain! Dear Father!
This arm beneath your head;
It is some dream that on the deck,
You've fallen cold and dead.

My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;
My Father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;
The ship is anchor'd safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;
From fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won; 20;
Exult oh shores, and ring oh bells!
But I, with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

~ Walt Whitman
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Poetry: Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening by Robert Frost

noreply@blogger.com (namae) — Wed, 12 Aug 2009 06:51:00 +0000

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening (by Robert Frost)

Whose woods these are, I think I know;
His house is in the village though.
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near;
Between the woods and frozen lake,
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

~ Robert Frost
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Poetry: Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night by Dylan Thomas

noreply@blogger.com (namae) — Tue, 11 Aug 2009 06:38:00 +0000

Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night (by Dylan Thomas)

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning, they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight,
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on that sad height,
Curse, bless, me now, with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

~ Dylan Thomas
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Poetry: Death by John Donne

noreply@blogger.com (namae) — Mon, 10 Aug 2009 06:26:00 +0000

Death (by John Donne)

Death, be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so:
For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow
Die not; poor Death; nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleep, which but thy picture be,
Much pleasure, then from thee much more must flow.
And soonest our best men with thee do go -
Rest of their bones and soul's delivery!
Thou'rt slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell,
And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well,
And better than thy stroke. Why swell'st thou then?
One short sleep past, we wake eternally,
And Death shall be no more: Death thou shalt die!

~ John Donne
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Poetry: Ode to Autumn by John Keats

noreply@blogger.com (namae) — Sun, 09 Aug 2009 06:19:00 +0000

Ode to Autumn (by John Keats)

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun
Conspiring with him how to load and bless,
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eaves run;
To bend with apples the mossed cottage trees
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
To swell the gourd and plump the hazel shells
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease
For Summer has o'er-brimmed their clammy cell.

Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;
Or on a half-reaped furrow sound asleep,
Drowsed with the fumes of the poppies, while thy hook
Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers;
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
Steady thy laden head across a brook;
Or by a cider-press, with patient look,
Thou watches the last oozings, hours by hours.

Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?
Think not of them, thou hast thy music too -
While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;
Then in a wailful choir, the small gnats mourn
Among the river sallows, bourne aloft,
Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourne;
Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
The redbreast whistles from a garden-croft,
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.

~ John Keats

Poetry: Auguries of Innocence by William Blake

noreply@blogger.com (namae) — Sat, 08 Aug 2009 02:41:00 +0000

Auguries of Innocence (by William Blake)

To see a World in a grain of sand
And Heaven in a wild flower,
Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand
And Eternity in an hour.

A robin red breast in a Cage
Puts all Heaven in a rage.
A Dove House fill'd with doves and pigeons
Shudders Hell thro' all its regions.
A dog starv'd at his Master's Gate
Predicts the ruin of the State.
A horse misus'd upon the Road
Calls to Heaven for Human Blood.
Each outcry of the hunted hare,
A fiber from the brain does tear.
A skylark wounded in the wing,
A cherubim does cease to sing.
The game cock clipp'd and arm'd for fight,
Does the Rising Sun affright.
Every wolf and lion's howl
Raises from Hell a Human Soul.
The wild deer wand'ring here and there,
Keeps the Human Soul from care.
The lamb misus'd breeds public strife,
And yet forgives the Butcher's Knife.
The bat that flits at close of eve
Has left the brain that won't believe.
The owl that calls upon the night
Speaks the unbeliever's fright.
He who shall hurt the little wren
Shall never be belov'd by Men.
He who the ox to wrath has mov'd
Shall never be by Woman lov'd.
The wanton boy that kills the fly
Shall feel the spider's enmity.
He who torments the chafer's sprite
Weaves a bower in endless night.
The caterpillar on the leaf
Repeats to thee thy Mother's grief.
Kill not the moth nor butterfly,
For the Last Judgment draweth nigh.
He who shall train the horse to War
Shall never pass the Polar Bar.
The beggar's dog and widow's cat,
Feed them and thou wilt grow fat.
The gnat that sings his Summer's song,
Poison gets from Slander's tongue.
The poison of the snake and newt
Is the sweat of Envy's Foot.
The poison of the honey bee
Is the Artist's Jealousy.
The Prince's robes and beggar's rags
Are toadstools on the Miser's Bags.
A Truth that's told with bad intent
Beats all the lies you can invent.
It is right, it should be so; -
Man was made for Joy and Woe; -
And when this we rightly know,
Thro' the World we safely go.
Joy and Woe are woven fine,
A clothing for the Soul divine.
Under every grief and pine,
Runs a joy with silken twine.
The Babe is more than swaddling bands;
Throughout all these Human Lands,
Tools were made, and born were hands;
Every farmer understands.
Every tear from every eye
Becomes a Babe in Eternity.
This is caught by Females bright,
And return'd to its own delight.
The bleat, the bark, bellow and roar
Are waves that beat on Heaven's Shore.
The Babe that weeps the rod beneath
Writes Revenge in realms of Death.
The beggar's rags, fluttering in air,
Does to rags the Heavens tear.
The soldier arm'd with sword and gun,
Palsied strikes the Summer's sun.
The poor Man's farthing is worth more
Than all the Gold in Afric's Shore.
One mite wrung from the lab'rer's hands
Shall buy and sell the miser's lands;
Or if protected from on High,
Does that whole Nation sell and buy.
He who mocks the Infant's Faith
Shall be mock'd in Age and Death.
He who shall teach the Child in doubt
The rotting grave shall ne'er get out.
He who respects the Infant's Faith
Triumphs over Hell and Death.
The Child's Toys and the Old Man's Reasons
Are the fruits of the two Seasons.
The questioner, who sits to sly
Shall never know how to reply.
He who replies to words of doubt
Doth put the Light of Knowledge out.
The strongest Poison ever known
Came from Caesar's Laurel Crown.
Nought can deform the Human Race
Like the armour's iron brace.
When Gold and Gems adorn the plow,
To peaceful Arts shall Envy bow.
A riddle or the cricket's cry
Is to doubt a fit reply.
The emmet's inch and eagle's mile
Make lame Philosophy to smile.
He who doubts from what he sees
Will ne'er believe, do what you please.
If the Sun and Moon should doubt,
They'd immediately go out.
To be in a Passion you Good may do,
But no Good if a Passion is in you.
The whore and gambler, by the State
Licenc'd, build that Nation's Fate.
The harlot's cry from street to street
Shall weave Old England's winding sheet.
The Winner's Shout, the Loser's Curse
Dance before dead England's hearse.
Every night and every morn,
Some to misery be born.
Every morn and every night,
Some are born to sweet delight.
Some are born to sweet delight;
Some are born to endless night.
We are led to believe a lie
When we see not thro' the Eye,
Which was born in a night to perish in a night
When the Soul slept in beams of Light.
God appears and God is Light
To those poor Souls who dwell in the night,
But does a Human Form display
To those who dwell in realms of day?

~ William Blake

Poetry: Let These Be Your Desires by Khalil Gibran

noreply@blogger.com (namae) — Fri, 07 Aug 2009 02:28:00 +0000

Let These Be Your Desires (by Khalil Gibran)

Love has no other desire but to fulfill itself;
But if your love and must needs have desires,
Let these be your desires:

To melt and be like the running brook
That sings its melody to the night.
To know the pain of too much tenderness,
To be wounded by your own understanding of love,
And to bleed willingfully and joyfully.
To wake at dawn with a winged heart,
And to give thanks for another day of loving.
To rest at the noon hour and meditate love's ecstacy,
To return home at eventide with gratitude,
And then to sleep with a prayer
For the beloved in your heart
And a song of praise upon your lips.

~ Khalil Gibran

Poetry: If by Rudyard Kipling

noreply@blogger.com (namae) — Thu, 06 Aug 2009 03:44:00 +0000

If (by Rudyard Kipling)

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting;
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies;
Or being hated, don't give way to hating;
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;
If you can dream, and not make dreams your master;
If you can think, and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with triumph and disaster,
And treat those two imposters just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken,
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools;
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn out tools;
If you can make one heap of all your winnings,
And risk it all on one turn of pitch and toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings,
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinnew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them, 'Hold on!'
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings nor lose the common touch;
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run; -
Your is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And which is more - you'll be a Man, my son!

~ Rudyard Kipling
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Poetry: Desiderata by Max Ehrmann

noreply@blogger.com (namae) — Tue, 04 Aug 2009 07:15:00 +0000

Desiderata (by Max Ehrmann)

Go placidly amid the noise and haste,
And remember what peace there may be in silence.

As far as possible, without surrender,
Be on good terms with all persons.
Speak your truth quietly and clearly;
And listen to others,
Even to the dull and ignorant -
They too have their story.
Avoid loud and aggressive persons -
They are vexatious to the spirit.

If you compare yourself with others,
You may become vain or bitter,
For always,
There will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.
Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.
Keep interested in your own career,
However humble -
It is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.

Exercise caution in your business affairs,
For the world is full of trickery;
But let this not blind you to what virtue there is -
Many persons strive for high ideals, and everywhere life is full of heroism.
Be yourself. Especially do not feign affection.
Neither be cynical about love,
For in the face of all aridity and disenchantment,
It is as perennial as the grass.

Take kindly the counsel of the years,
Gracefully surrendering the things of youth.
Nurture strength of spirit,
To shield you in sudden misfortune.
But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings -
Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.

Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself.
You are a child of the Universe,
No less than the trees and the stars -
You have the right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you,
No doubt the Universe is unfolding as it should.

Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be.
And whatever your labors and aspirations,
In the noisy confusion of life,
Keep peace in your soul.

With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams,
It is still a beautiful world.
Be cheerful.
Strive to be happy.

~ Max Ehrmann

Poetry: Youth by Theodore Roosevelt

noreply@blogger.com (namae) — Wed, 29 Jul 2009 02:53:00 +0000

Youth (by Theodore Roosevelt)

I want to see you game boys,
I want to see you brave and manly,
and I also want to see you gentle and tender.
Be practical as well as generous in your ideals.
Keep you eyes on the stars
and keep your feet on the ground.
Courage, hard work, self mastery and intelligent effort
are all essential to successful life.
Character, in the long run,
is the decisive factor in the life of an individual and of nations alike.

~ Theodore Roosevelt

Poetry: The Rainbow by Susan Jane Hobbs

noreply@blogger.com (namae) — Mon, 29 Jun 2009 03:05:00 +0000

The Rainbow (by Susan Jane Hobbs)

Elusive,
mystical,
Intricate but beautiful,
With colours so bright,
Yet
looking so tranquil,
Children follow it,
Lovers live on it,
Dreamers
chase it,
But none fulfill the desire to hold it.
But it shines
Together with rain and sunshine.
And as if to remind us
That after
sorrow comes hope,
After heartbreak comes cheer,
After rain comes
sunshine
And the rainbow.

~ Susan Jane Hobbs

Poetry: She Walks in Beauty by Lord Byron

noreply@blogger.com (namae) — Fri, 29 May 2009 03:18:00 +0000

She Walks in Beauty (by Lord Byron)

She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes;
Thus mellow'd to that tender light,
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impair'd the nameless grace,
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o'er her face,
Where thoughts serenely sweet express.
How pure, how dear their dwelling place.

And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent.
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent.
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!

~ Lord Byron
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Poetry: Sonnet 18 by William Shakespeare

noreply@blogger.com (namae) — Wed, 29 Apr 2009 03:38:00 +0000

Shall I Compare Thee to a Summer's Day
Sonnet 18 (by William Shakespeare)

Shall I compare thee to a Summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and temperate.
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And Summer's lease hath all too short to date.
Sometimes too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimm'd.
And every fair from fair sometimes declines
By chance or nature's changing course untrimm'd.
But thy eternal Summer shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st,
Now shall death brag thou wander'st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st,
So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see.
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

~ William Shakespeare

Poetry: How Do I Love Thee by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

noreply@blogger.com (namae) — Sun, 29 Mar 2009 04:09:00 +0000

Sonnet:
How Do I Love Thee (by Elizabeth Barrett Browning)

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight.
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace,
I love thee to the level of everyday's
Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight.
I love thee freely, as men strive for right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints. I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life! - And if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.

~ Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Poetry: Sonnet 116 by William Shakespeare

noreply@blogger.com (namae) — Sun, 01 Mar 2009 04:55:00 +0000

Love Is Not Love which Alters When It Alteration Finds
Sonnet 116 (by William Shakespeare)

Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove.
Oh, no! It is an ever fixed mark
That looks on tempests, and is never shaken.
It is the star to every wandering bark
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Love is not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come.
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But it bears out, even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

~William Shakespeare

Poetry: Love's Philosophy by Percy Bysshe Shelley

noreply@blogger.com (namae) — Thu, 29 Jan 2009 05:21:00 +0000

Love's Philosophy (by Percy Bysshe Shelley)

The fountains mingle with the river,
And the rivers with the ocean.
The winds of heaven mix forever
With a sweet emotion.
Nothing in the world is single;
All things by a law divine
In one another's being mingle; -
Why I not with thine?

See! The mountains kiss high heaven,
And the waves clasp one another.
No sister flower would be forgiven
If it disdained its brother.
And the sunlight clasps the earth,
And the moonbeams kiss the sea; -
What are all these kissings worth,
If thou kiss not me?

~ Percy Bysshe Shelley

Beginners Writing – What Sparks the Writing Process?

noreply@blogger.com (namae) — Sun, 28 Dec 2008 17:48:00 +0000

Writers always have a natural urge to write. If they’re not writing, they feel the need to write. That’s how it always is. After all you can’t perfect your craft if you do not practice your craft. So, writers always find the time to write.

How about aspiring writers. Aspiring writers have a larger need to write. Though inexperienced, aspiring writers need to push themselves to write more – to gain more experience, hence develop the ability.

So writing becomes a need. But sometimes it is just too difficult to write – too difficult to find ideas to write about. Of course you need to know a great deal about something before you can be able to write about it. You need research and that’s fairly easy – compared to having the right amount of inspiration.

In writing, the writer must learn to write from his heart. This is what makes his writing quality writing. What does quality writing actually mean? – It’s you having the full interest for your topic. If you don’t have the affection for the thing you are writing about, then you’re just beating around the bush. You write a lot of nonsense, hence, you lose readers. What catches the attention of readers is writing produced with love.

If the writer wrote in his full interest, he writes in all of his effort. This is what produces quality writing.

This is the equation of quality writing. The ideal writer doesn’t only write. He is engaged in his writing. He becomes one with his material.

A writer begins to write when his mind is suddenly aroused by an interesting subject. A writer stops writing if he loses interest. The result is unfinished business. He fails to finish what he started. The worse though is if you drag yourself to finish your writing only to end up with a mediocre creation.

And don’t forget how it feels like writing about something you don’t like, writing something if you don’t feel like writing it?

The meaning of “Just write” is not actually what it says per se. It means – just write, but write as your heart allows you to. It’s just impossible to write if you don’t feel even just a tiny tug in your heart to write. It’s impossible. I’m sure you’ve seen an image of a writing staring blankly in his typewriter for hours. He can’t and won’t start writing if he experiences no swift gush of enlightenment. You can’t make him to write unless he absolutely wants it. It’s impossible, and unadvisable.

At this point, it may seem that the writing experience poses a great deal of a challenge. One needs to find ample amount of inspiration. One can’t deal without it, and a lot of times it’s just hard to find. Once you find it though and put to work the result is more than worth it. For inspiration creates masterpiece. People can write crap, but (inspired) writers make masterpiece.

Ponderings About Writing: Why Become a Writer? Why Should You Even Write?

noreply@blogger.com (namae) — Thu, 18 Dec 2008 20:39:00 +0000

Writing is not an easy thing. There are things to worry about while writing – things like grammar and style. Not to mention pleasing your audience (or rather readers). Most of all writing takes a lot of patience and a great deal of talent. First, you need to put in ample time and effort to develop your aptitude for writing. And then, you need inspiration to be able to express that certain gift for writing.

They say writers are made not born – that anyone could become a writer. But writers don’t also become writers unless they start from scratch, and then from this scratch the journey is endless. The entire process is long, tiresome, and sometimes frustrating (painful for those who have to survive under the knives of their editors). Not to mention the money yield is pinkie-size. So why should you decide to become a writer? Why should you even start to write?

The answer is because you can. The moment you notice that you have the potential and the calling for this special endeavor, you shouldn’t at any chance waste the time to seize the pen and write. Maybe you have a certain eye for noticing things that people don’t usually consider, much less write about. Maybe you have gab at expressing your thoughts in written form. Then you must consider yourself a writer. If you don’t see yourself as a writer you can’t become a successful one.

Writing is fulfilling. You experience a certain itch once a good topic or some nice thoughts pop inside your head. You just can’t wait to get a hold of a paper, or start tapping on your laptop. Putting down the words to create magnificent ideas satisfies the urge – the urge to connect with people, your readers in a special way. For me writing is the highest level of communication. In writing you can say things you don’t normally could. The possibilities are endless. Just try to free write and read the resulting product. It reveals things you hadn’t at first thought were in your mind and in your heart. Reading the result of your writing could be illuminating. It tells so much about yourself, if not about the topic the topic you are writing about. Writing is a craft and you must try it. Relish it.

If you want to become a more creative person then it’s definitely worth the try. In writing you can say things in a more creative light. If you can draw dragons, you can also write about them. You can even clarify thoughts once you put them down on paper. Writing can also instruct, educate. Best of all it can entertain. Doesn’t some writing sound melodious to the ears? It’s like hearing songs but while reading. Writing is absolutely for the creative soul. It’s also for the intellectually motivated.

If you have great ideas why shouldn’t there be a way for you to express it? Writing is a great medium. It’s noble and it only asks for a pen and paper. Try writing today and be amazed at how much you could enjoy it. It’s for everyone and it’s free.