RIAH'S PLAYGROUND
The Writer
At 12 years old, I ran into my parents’ room in tears, having just discovered JK Rowling wrote her first ‘novel’ at age 11. As a 12 year old with nary even a novella to my name, it was apparent that my dreams of being a writer were a bust. I am now over double the age I was then, and still waiting on the novel. But the intervening years, far from solidifying my status as a failure, have only vivified my relationship with writing. I don’t know if I’m ready to put a label on things just yet, but let’s just say we’re spending a lot of time together. These days, I do most of my writing on my front porch, where I have a lovely view of the Blue Ridge Mountains. My writing is fueled by a great deal of coffee and occasional pauses to marvel at the squirrels.
The Writing
A lot of people ask me what kind of writing I do. I tell them I like to experiment with multiple artistic mediums. That, folks, is a pretentious way of saying I don't have a clue. Personally, I'm more interested in the question of why I write than what.
I write because sometimes the words I put down on a page teach me how to marvel at my own wisdom. And sometimes they make me cackle. And sometimes they allow me to dip below the surface of myself and rest in my own sun-shimmering waters for an hour or so. I write because I hope that someday my words will do for my readers what my favorite writers have done for me. Which is to say, teach me how to come home to myself.
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The Playground
Have you ever gone down a slide as an adult? I highly recommend it. There are occupational hazards, of course. Wedgies, twisted ankles, and tortured groans from the bright plastic as you attempt your scooching passage across. But there is something giddy-making about a slide. The wind and the whoosh and the absurdity of climbing up a ladder for no purpose but to go right back down. Slides remind me that somewhere, some time, some city council voted in a meeting to hire a contractor to build a structure dedicated to delight. Doesn’t that make you smile? Inspired by faceless city councils of eras past, I too have built myself a playground in which to frolic. I will play in any structure of poetry and prose that catches my eye, running from one to the other like a child darting from swing to slide. Equal parts dizzying and delightful.
