Who am I? I am a writer. I write daily. I love words. I love the feel of words, the spirit of words, the rhythm of words, the touch of words, the meanings of words. To keep my craft fresh and my fingers and keys moving, the discipline of writing daily is essential. Each time I sit down to write, I set the mental stage for creating something new. I have to be where my words lead me. It’s not uncommon for me to change the title of my story as it evolves. So the final story is a different story, the one which needs to be told, the one which surprises me when I read it.
Here I am at age seventy-eight, almost seventy-nine, almost entering my eighth decade of life, pursuing a writing career that really began in fifth grade when I wrote my book report on Little Women. Fortunately, my mother saved this story which is on brown-ish white-ish lined old-fashioned school paper which I preserve in a plastic sleeve. Words have always been sheltered within me. Now they have matured. A beam of light casts its brightness upon me and gives me the power to write.
I have always loved words but I didn’t how to use them artfully until I began writing classes twelve years ago. My vocabulary has grown as has my writing techniques. I put words together that have sound, rhythm, and ignite feelings. I have learned to revise, revise, revise until I write the right story. The story must be told no matter how resistant I am to sharing it. I love descriptive words, using many words to expand upon and give emphasis to a feeling, a thought, an idea, emotions that resonate with my readers:
I am exhausted, fatigued, spent, de-energized, wan, weary, worn out. Will I ever feel whole again?
Writing is eternal. Words never die. Only I will. I will leave my writings to my daughter and granddaughter. So I won’t be forgotten. Above all else, I want to be remembered.
