Skip to main content

I am a writer


I am a writer.  I always have been. I always will be.
The pen and I are connected, my hand moves with it connected to my digits and spreads out the thoughts in my mind, bringing ink in colors of blue, black, pink, and purple on paper of white.  I am a writer.
When I was nine or ten years old, my late father gave me a stack of Big Chief Tablets and a pencil and told me to go write down my stories.  I wish I still had them today because it was one of the purest moments of creativity, my imagination took flight and the words reached paper.  My late father relished in them from my tale of the Irish Potato Famine that took off from me gnawing on a pencil in class to my coming-of-age-story of a young girl in the big city, I wish those stories and my father’s deep baritone was still around to encourage me, all these decades later.
I write poetry, essays, and one day, that long awaited memoir.  I also write professionally as a consultant, marketing professional, and educator.  I earned my Masters of Business Administration from the University of Iowa, the home of the Iowa Writer’s Workshop, the place where communication on paper was part of every class. 
These words on paper, this ability to sway an opinion, inform, entertain, and reach out to the heart of someone is the magical power of being able to write, being able to bring what is in my mind to a living document, eternal in the inscription.  I am a writer.
Years long on this earth, not yet fifty, has enabled me to live more stories that are waiting to be put on paper. This is my destiny, my existence. I am a writer.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Standing On The Side Of The Road

"Standing On The Side Of The Road" I am standing here on the side of the road -  Trying desperately not to be seen It is the middle of your busy day You do not notice me with your latte Guarding against the cold wind- Frozen inside outside walking here and there No mansion or house to put my belongings, no one to care- I am standing here on the side of the road- Not the trash you just tossed away That latte and uneaten muffin, my only meal today Standing here, shivering in the city alone No one to shelter and love me in the biting cold You are busy, I know, but see me please Life is not pleasurable or one of simple ease I once had a home and a family too Rushed through life, busy like you Forgotten and discarded in the corner cafe Wishing for more than your morning latte My only hope, made it last all day Trying hard not to be in anyone's way Standing on the side of the road It is where I live, where I grow old Please remember when you rush by T

Waiting on the Dying

There was a primal scream so loud is shattered the chandelier overhead. Fists pummelled the stiff body lying in repose on the velvet cushions inside the polished mahogany. Utterances of anguish emerged from many decades of compliant silence. Unanswered prayers now to be buried in the heavy chamber of clay. Fury burned the eyes were widows tears should rest. Strong limbs enveloped heaving frame pulling back to life. Wells of unspent tears erupted like a levy broken flooding out unspent waters. Screams of rebuke to the sewn lips and penny shut eyes for the years of fire from a controlling tongue. Weeping and sobbing to heaving and breathing the clay to burn fury in hulking frame no more. Gentle touches and breezes to douse the pent up searing of the soul to be released for a tomorrow yet to be. Too much living lost waiting on the dying to end the chain that binds.

We Must Change By The Hand

Deny Destroy Defer Disgrace Dreadful Double Speak Death Destruction Demon Devil We must change, we must change, we must change.  Children should not die at the hands that hold weapons such as these.  We must change.  Rights are not rights to slaughter. Nonsense in mass murder. Cowardice in suicide. Children should not die at the hands that hold weapons such as these. 12/14/12...not again...my heart hurts for Newtown Connecticut and the 20 children and 6 adults murdered at Sandy Hook Elementary School.