Six Word Stories.

I can’t remember what drove me to start writing.  I was never considered the smart kid in school with a large vocabulary winning the spelling bee, or getting a full ride scholarship because I excelled in sports and smarts.  I was mediocre at best.  I was the band geek with the punk friends trying to learn as many languages as possible.  Including the English language.  Throughout my college career my professors would tell me things like, ” you’re a bit all over the place, focus your thoughts on one idea” and “I don’t think I understand what point you’re trying to make.”  Proof that even in my early 30’s I still struggle with the use of the English language.  Between the tragic mix of minor dyslexia, poor hearing, a speech impediment and more thoughts than I can maintain, I found a rush of release through paper and pen.

And I write.

In journals.  In books.  In my day planner.  On napkins at restaurants.  On the puke baggie in airplanes.  Cardboard.  Mirrors.  Note books.  Birthday cards.  Texts.  Canvas.  Sand.  Rock.  Dirt.  Anywhere I can leave a mark.  

While going through recovery I find that writing is my most faithful form of processing, release and encouragement.  I write because my pen understands me.  I have many loved ones in my daily life that I try to get to understand me like my pen does…  It doesn’t work!  The human mind and life is authentically complex and the brain and mouth can’t communicate what the real self is truly attempting to say.  This morning I was taken back to a writing class I had in college where we studied Six Word Stories.  (If you have not heard of this, look some up, they’re incredibly entertaining and insightful!)  In this session we tried to say as much as we could with as little as possible by using six words.

Watch out, Scott.  They’re almost here.

Cracked eggs ends the chicken coop. 

Rain drowned the harvest.  Everyone starved. 

Fighting pollution: we threw out plastic.  

Someone had their hand in that.  

It’s not my business.  It’s yours.

I have been told that the first year of recovery is the most difficult because of all the changes that need to be made.  In my post last week I talked about that and how the article I read had helped me incredibly well to understand much more about MY recovery process.  (You can read that article at  After finding the relief that this whole recovery thing is simply for me, and MY best version self, it allows the complexity to subside.  It allows my loved ones to understand what I may never be able to say.  The English language doesn’t need to be spoken.  You can communicate through a life that is lived well.

Take it easy.  Keep it Simple.

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