Tuesday, December 30, 2008

I Write...

I write because I can’t not write. These words and stories have been living in my nervous system for years, maybe even some came in with me.

During later childhood years, I attempted a more formal style, on a huge black and gold Underwood typewriter.

High School brought Journalism club after school for a semester, then boys and phone calls took over.

Five children and their care left only stolen moments over a span of forty years, a poem here, an essay there, a journal entry on the fly.

Then that aspect of my life tapered down. I could devote chunks of time for a newsletter which carried me through the last decade of living with teenagers and their early college life. That quarterly epistle gave me room for poetry, editorials, and book reviews. My creative juices remained alive.

Now, however, I write because I have the mental space to think my own thoughts. I’m not completely immersed in covering someone else’s life-needs. My mind is my own and I even have time to put these thoughts onto paper.

So I write because I can, because it’s my passion that has long been held in abeyance to other life processes. I write because it is my way of creating, my expression of truth, and it’s such a simple way of sharing who I am.


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