7 Reasons to Write

Because we’re not perfect and we should see what that looks like in written form-

We all have the same words at our disposal and it’s intriguing to see how we use them so differently-

You may find hidden attributes within your personality-

Creation of words written into phrases or stories may put into motion action for yourself and possibly others-

It’s good for the heart, mind and soul-

If you don’t, these words will chase you-

As Emily Dickinson once wrote, ‘Your thoughts don’t have words every day’ and when they do, I think we ought to write them down-

-M. Taggart


Goggled Minds – Odd Walking Thoughts

If all the minds together couldn’t save us, what then? Could we walk among one another and learn why we ought to go on? Now? If not now, when? Let’s pretend there was one book that could sum the entirety of it all. Is it enough? Is it a large book? Is it a small book of quotes? Hush, don’t tell me of the bible. That’s not what I’m discussing. I’m talking here, now, the look in the child’s face when they have not one protector. If the look of innocence knew more than all of our thoughts combined, what then, could we learn? And would we remember. -M. Taggart

Only a Moment

I sat and I observed and I wondered. The window next to me gave a view of the snow and the trees and the people shoveling. They shoveled and some labored and some flung snow where they wished. Children played and shrieked and sometimes their parents called them back and for what reason I do not know. One man shoveled slower than the others and he also never stopped his progress. Today the snow fell in flakes that were fine and light and it seemed many of the people could simply push the shovel and walk behind it without much effort. I continued to watch them and I admired their winter hats and gloves and the way the moved within the snow lanes they had created.

Oh fuck, that was good.

One of the best ending paragraphs in a book I’ve ever read. ¬†At times this read like a fucking piece of homework. Then, a documentary. And then I saw flashes of absolutely brilliance within the emotional connection between writer and reader(s). Steinbeck’s ending to The Grapes of Wrath was absolute genius.

The women in this book are fucking strong. The men trample among one another and cause blood to shed.