I didn’t know I could paint until I was forty-seven. I didn’t even know I wanted to paint before “the ache” started. One day I felt this sucking feeling in my chest, and then my fingers literally started to ache as if something wanted to come out. Instead of running to the refrigerator, I ran to the craft store and the clerk helped me purchase something on which to paint. With random, leftover house paint, I coaxed my pain out, unto my first canvas.
It’s the same with writing. I get the same sucking, restless feeling in my chest. I now know that to ease the restlessness, I must create something. Before I thought it was just loneliness or sadness and tried to feed it or ignore it.
It only wanted out.