I was destined to be a writer. I just never knew what that meant for me. I still don’t know what it means to me. I am starting here and want to find my voice as a writer. I know I am not a fiction writer; I am not a writer of suspense or history. I am definitely not a writer of those trashy romance novels. I am a talker-writer. I don’t believe this is an actual genre, so I am going out on a limb and just creating my own. I hear writers can do such things. They have power. Words have power to change the world, so they say. So I will just make up my own genre of writing. I am just that bold.
I grew up in the beautiful Pacific Northwest as the youngest of three kids. My parents are still married, and live in the same house that I was raised in. It is remarkable to me that had one thing been minutely different from what it was that I would be a wholly different human being. Everything lined up as it was supposed to so that I am here in this current moment. I will talk about that in my writing. A lot. It has shaped me one-hundred percent.
I am married and have four daughters. I will write a lot about these folks as well, as they have shaped, and continue to shape, my life. In many ways they are my whole life. They bring me great joy, at times great heartache, but at the end of the day these five people are the ones I choose to spend my days and nights with. These are the people who Spirit has brought to me to be my greatest teachers. They are my people, and I love them more than I ever thought I could be capable of loving. Even when the girls take my shit and break it or lose it and then totally deny it, I would still pick them, always.
We currently reside in the Southwestern United States, in a very hot place called Phoenix. I am not a desert rat, and while I hear people say things like how much they appreciate the beauty of the desert, well, I am just not sure we are looking at the same desert. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and I prefer looking at greens and blues, not browns and beiges, tans and khakis. I also prefer to not scald my hands when I get into my car and touch the steering wheel in June. People say things like “But the winters make up for it”. Nothing makes up for third degree burns. Agree to disagree.
So here I am, setting out on this adventure of discovering what it means for me to be a writer. I am sure this will be therapeutic for me in some ways, and perhaps for anyone who happens upon my blog and finds a connection in what they read. Writing is like that. In fact, in anything we offer to the world is like that. Whether one is an artist, a dancer, a chef, a singer, a photographer. Anything which requires a potential audience. You are sharing something that is yours alone, your creation, your heart, and you have a hope that the observer will connect to it; be moved by it; be inspired by what it is you are offering.
I hope you feel connected to my writing. Moved by something I say. Inspired by my words. After all, there is only one reason a writer puts the pen to paper, to share him or herself with the world. As the great poet Maya Angelou has said:
“There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.”
And here I go.