Saturday, June 28, 2008

Precocious

I'm sure it was third grade. We were 8 years old. We were precocious. We weren't supposed to know yet that we were all different.

We had figured it out.

What did we do with that information? We didn't know. We were only 8 years old after all.

My friend, Patty, moved to another city. I asked my mom, "if we moved, could we move there?" She said, "Yes, but it's unlikely because I've put so much blood, sweat, and tears into where we live now."

I didn't know what she meant. I only wondered whether if in a new place I had a chance of starting over . . . I already knew the answer was "no." It was a "no" on both counts.

That's the problem with being precocious.

You know your destiny, only then you think it's what you were stuck with -- not who you are.

We were all precocious. They said we were the most rebellious class to ever go through the school.

Why wouldn't we be rebellious, if we knew already?

Precocious. Knowing before you understand what to do.

I'm a grown up, and I still know that precocious feeling now.

Lucky for me, it's familiar.

-- me liz strauss, letting me be

Sunday, June 15, 2008

Please Don't Stop


When I write on paper, I write differently. I watch my thoughts as they leave my brain, moving down my arm to my hand and come out through the pencil's end. The words come more slowly and I look closely at them.

Something happens when I write on the Internet. Perhaps it's the fact that know other people are writing on other screens words that I'll read. It simply be that I'm looking up as if another person is sitting across from me. I am more aware that I'm talking with my keys -- that my words are a doorway to relationships.

Bit by bit, word by word, I've come to realize that the writing I do here is more than recording ideas and thoughts. People stop. People read. People answer what I say.

Their words meet my words. We communicate.

My heart and mind meets others here.

I hope that she tells them too.

"Please don't stop."
--me "liz" strauss, letting me be










She said, "Please don't stop."

I'm a writer. I'm not sure that I could.