A student in my Thursday evening class has a tattoo on his hand. He is certainly not alone; nearly all his classmates sport some sort of inked skin. His tattoo, and the attitude that comes with it, has finally pushed me passed my disdain for what I have often considered to be a symbol of white trash, drunken irresponsible behavior. I am actually inspired by his tattoo: Believe.
In addition to the permanent reminder that he should always believe in himself, his choices, and his forward life momentum, he carries small cards with him everywhere, in his car, as bookmarks, in his binder/notebook, in his pocket. They follow the simplicity of his tattoo: Believe.
I find this inspiring, so much so that I was able to temporarily work around my writer's block to produce a short short essay about him for the Fine Line E-Book call for submissions. In just under 100 words, I told the briefest of stories about how he has inspired me.
THEN, I dusted off a long-shelved essay and submitted it to The Kiss anthology. No new writing on this one, but I feel that the publication would be a very good fit for this essay aptly entitled "It Started With a Kiss and Ended in Silence."
THEN some of my writerly friends got fired up about forming a new writing group that includes me. I am so overwhelmed by the most recent gestures that I can't think about them/the group without crying. I should be able to get beyond that within a few days.
A little inspiration can go a long way. It helps the breathing AND the writing.
