dissonant writing

She said my language needs more variety. That my writing is lacking. That it's flat. It lacks volume. It needs innovative use of words.
But the words are right here, beside me… stacked all neatly. According to parts of speech: unused adjectives, effective and uncommon adverbs, difficult verbs. Others are classified according to the alphabet. All I have to do is dip into them and take my pick. Choose from among the words the most powerful and momentous, the least expected word.

But what she doesn't get is that sometimes—most times—it feels more like me just to be softly gliding along the page, listening to the whisper of the pencil as it draws the letters and adds the dots. It fills me up with energy. I no longer feel empty when I see the page being colored in black on a white landscape. It is a sketch of words. And it doesn't have to be perfect. Like when an artist makes a sketch of a face—the face has its wrinkles and creases. Life lines… and so does my writing. I want to keep my writing imperfect, maybe even un-perfect. Let it be true to me and true to itself. I don't want to be a commander of metaphors. I don't want to be in total control of my paragraphs. My sentences may be awkward, but I faithfully surrender to the offbeat, syncopated rhythm of my own words… and let them dance their own dance across the page. I let my metaphors be a bit slippery and unpolished. Let them be lacking in precision. Let them be somewhat dissonant. After all, my writing is not about accuracy. It's about fluidity, my words fall onto the page like soft drops of rain on a dry summer ground. There is no order to the rain drops… they just fall…

(c) All rights reserved to Khulud Khamis (2008)