A Beginning

Writing has been my companion for my entire life. I could never keep a journal. I could never write in a diary. I was even terrible at passing notes. But I wrote. I dreamed of being an author who would inspire children to read and write, who would inspire anyone to read and write. I wanted to write about things that were important to me, but I could never write them from my own perspective.

When my dad was sick I wrote poetry and stories in which the characters father had a terminal illness and died. Then when I was older I would write about grief from another persons perspective. Writing, and looking from the outside in, helped me get closer to those things I could, and most likely will, never understand. Death, grief, solitude, and loss. Writing was my coping mechanism. Writing is my coping mechanism. The words I write attempt to understand the incomprehensible.

Now, as a mother, wife, and student I often find that I don't have time to escape reality into books, because my mind is too full. So, I write it out.

My mother used to be my writing cheerleader before she passed away, and now I find myself turning to my wonderful sister, who, in fact, recommended I put my writings up online to be critiqued by others. I do so hesitantly. I am open and willing to hear opinions and critiques, but I am not you and you are not me. What you like, I may not, and vice versa. I'm not saying, "If you can't say anything nice, don't say it at all." What I'm saying is I'd love to hear what recommendations you have, or errors you see, but I do not need to hear that you think what I'm writing is crap, unless you explain why, respectfully.

My next post will be the beginning this book. =)

Have a Great Day.