Even before I labeled myself a writer, when something was on my mind, written words were usually my mode of expression. Although, over the years I also chose to express myself in other creative ways like dance, music, and digital arts. This gig as an author, when I reflect, is the one art I've never abandoned. I think when I'm eulogized at my funeral, my family and friends will label me a bunch of things, but what they read will be some of my own words as a memorial.
I hope so at least.
That's morbid, huh?
Anyway, lately, I've been blocked from writing fiction. This happened to me a few years ago. When it did, I found writing about life helped me purge the words that were begging for release. Lately, I've noticed I'm doing the same thing. I'll be randomly twiddling my thumbs wondering how I can be productive. A thought will pop in my mind, and I'll just start writing about it. The next thing I know, it's all come full circle into something I didn't realize I'd even been keeping contained. Writing is cathartic.
About a week ago, this happened to me. The topic was my kids, and like most of my posts, was a reflection with hopes for the future.
I've submitted articles for publication to different places in the past, experienced rejection, but never one to give up, I hit the button to send this to The Mighty without even a second thought. What's another no?
That was the attitude I had when I found out I was pregnant with Noah and had convinced myself I didn't care if the test was negative. It seems, sometimes, when we give up on trying for matters that mean the most to us, the restriction we felt from the pressure allows us to climb the stairs of hope with the destination of our dreams a mere step away.
Friday of last week, I found out The Mighty was going to publish my story, and on Wednesday that happened.
I hope you'll take a minute to read it and share it with your friends and loved ones.
I hope so at least.
That's morbid, huh?
Anyway, lately, I've been blocked from writing fiction. This happened to me a few years ago. When it did, I found writing about life helped me purge the words that were begging for release. Lately, I've noticed I'm doing the same thing. I'll be randomly twiddling my thumbs wondering how I can be productive. A thought will pop in my mind, and I'll just start writing about it. The next thing I know, it's all come full circle into something I didn't realize I'd even been keeping contained. Writing is cathartic.
About a week ago, this happened to me. The topic was my kids, and like most of my posts, was a reflection with hopes for the future.
I've submitted articles for publication to different places in the past, experienced rejection, but never one to give up, I hit the button to send this to The Mighty without even a second thought. What's another no?
That was the attitude I had when I found out I was pregnant with Noah and had convinced myself I didn't care if the test was negative. It seems, sometimes, when we give up on trying for matters that mean the most to us, the restriction we felt from the pressure allows us to climb the stairs of hope with the destination of our dreams a mere step away.
Friday of last week, I found out The Mighty was going to publish my story, and on Wednesday that happened.
I hope you'll take a minute to read it and share it with your friends and loved ones.
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