I, Writer


I do not recall ever choosing to be a writer. It is just something I have done to express myself ever since I can remember. It is more like writing chose me.

When I was growing up, I used writing to console myself and have done so for years. Writing comforts and lends support to me, I cannot live without it.

I write more now than I ever have. And by doing so, I have come to understand old stereotypes of the heavy-drinking writer since my most compelling material always puts me on the edge. No wonder writers are notorious for drinking, it quells the fear before they jump!

Writing is certainly a wild ride and not always an easy one. The perfectionist in me keeps me tethered to unrelenting questions about the craft and trying to figure out the challenges of social media. (She can be a real bitch when she wants to be.) But I do rely on her for proofreading and she makes me try.

She always makes me try.

Yes, underneath all the havoc she wreaks in my life, she is the voice of my creativity, my passion, and my open heart. She heals me with words when I am deep in meditation, reflective in nature, or prone on my yoga mat. She encourages me to express my feminine energy which keeps me sane and happy. And she reveals a silver lining in almost everything I see.

She is shimmering gold leaves in the autumn even though everything is dying.

She is stark, white birch trees in the wintertime in spite of the hardships of the season.

She is moonlit skies on a warm spring morning, reminding me of the cycle of life through the constant birth and death of stars.

She is jet-black clouds heavy with rain in the summertime, proving storms can be beautiful too.

And when her tears flow; when I am overwhelmed with honest, raw emotion, they trickle onward. And it is onward I will go.

May I continue to write her well.



copyright © Kelly Huntson and findingwhatssweet.com 2015-2017. All rights reserved.

Unusual Hunger

unusual hunger

Sometimes hunger grows teeth. It can bite across the grain, the grooves of life’s patterns. It can take what you think you know and scrape it into shavings, drop it on a rotting floor.

It can leave you feeling warped and weak, fearing you will fall through to something awful underneath, like a new, grotesque form of yourself that is unfinished and raw.

I say let the hunger feed.

Let it whittle, let it chew all of your tough bark away, let it expose the tender pulp inside of you, let it kick-start, let it tend to new growth from within as its sap of new life settles and absorbs your mind.

Hunger for more.

Refuse to fit in.

Be the mismatched colorful chair that shines in the corner refusing to earn its rightful place at the table.


copyright © Kelly Huntson and findingwhatssweet.com 2015-2018. All rights reserved.

Thank you for reading, have a great week!



*originally published Aug. 2016