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About This Author
My name is Joy, and I love to write.
Why poetry, here? Because poetry uplifts its writer, and if she is lucky enough, her readers, too. Around us, so many objects abound to write about. Once a poet starts with a smallest, most trivial object, he shall discover that his pen will spill out what is most delicate or most majestic hidden inside him. Since the classics sometimes dealt with lofty subjects with a lofty language, a person with poetry in his soul may incline to emulate that. That is understandable. Poetry does that to a person: it enlarges the soul and gives it wings. Yet, to really soar, a poet needs to take off from the ground.
 
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Everyday Canvas #937755 added July 10, 2018 at 9:41pm
Restrictions: None
Writing...With or Without Scars
Prompt: Jeff Vandermeer, in his Wonderbook, talks about a “scar” or a “ghost of a scar” or a “splinter”, which exists in a writer’s background that inspires or causes him to begin to write. In his case, it was his parents’ divorce when he was a child. What other kinds of “ghosts of scars” can inspire the urge to write? Do you know of any real-life examples of it?
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Some of us can't know where the love to write came from. In my case, it was probably with me ever since I discovered books, which was at a really early age because I was read to and told stories quite a bit ever since a baby, ever since I can remember. In addition, when scars happened, they added to it.
When I look back, even my beginnings when I was the only spoiled child to four women in the house could have been a scarring experience because I must have felt inundated and clobbered with everyone’s attention, and because of that, I probably mistook what the world was about. Then, when my parents broke up later, it became the greatest shock of my life. Other stuff followed, too.
Yet, I can’t blame my love of writing on the misfortunes of my life because my love of making up stuff was there all along. To begin with, I loved the letters and words and lines and books so much so that I practically taught myself (or so they say) when I was three by asking my grandmother the names of the week and the letters in each day, which were on the calendar on her wall. I could read by myself before I turned four. My mom used to say that once I began devouring books no one could tell there was a child in the house. I think in there somewhere the love of writing first took root.
Still, I can see how the love of writing can come about through a different way for others. To begin with, misfortunes give us material to write about. It may be therapy. It may have something to do with showmanship. It may be a way of seeking others who have had the same misfortunes.
The good thing is, no matter how successful or unsuccessful we may be, we’ve all found out that writing rocks. 
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