for the longest time i've been trying to get myself to admit that i am a writer.  and the longing to write is never going to end until i sit myself down on my desk and find these words that's compelling to be written. here i am trying to start fragments of a memoir.  recalling images.  conversations.  small talk.  deep introspection.  from my life that has been "too fragmented" to weave in words.  

this morning, i've found the courage to discover a writing voice that has always pushed me beyond reason. it's a voice that i've ignored because i cannot name it.  but it's a voice that's been wanting to speak in a different name.  and hence, it calls itself soleil laville.

it revealed itself to me this morning after idly checking my mail and restlessly trying to find more meaning in my Facebook newsfeed but to no avail.  it's been spammed with chatter that does not bring me peace.  so the unearthing of this character that has seen my life through different eyes has brought me to face my fears and dig into the words from a mouth that's been shut for too long.  i am waiting  to be told what to do.  this soleil who comes after me with great force and who seems to know every crack and crevice in my soul.

so i watch as she comes to write the words of a story i've long refused to read for fear it complicated and doomed to be misunderstood.  but she insists.  and i can only surrender for that's what writers do.