Trying To Walk In Beauty

It’s on the blank pages where I found my voice. My quiet times were filled with stories I had written and had yet to write down. The roads that I traveled on were where my stories seeped into my head, where they came to life, and repeated over and over again in my head until I wrote them down. Waiting rooms, when I waited for my kids’ appointments became writing sessions for me and was disappointed when their names were called right away.

My dream to become a writer or to author any of my writing is so far-fetched that I had very little to no confidence in myself. I knew I loved to read. Thanks to my no-electricity, therefore no television, upbringing. I ended up reading anything I could get my hands on. Anything from torn up, tattered to pieces Archie and Jughead comic books, which by the way, I am pro Betty all the way, to my mother’s photo romance magazines that she bought every month. I can only wish that Archie, Jughead and the whole gang grew older along with me. Ha! I loved my mother’s magazines and all of the beautiful love stories which I would read over and over until they fell apart. Not to mention, the photography was great. The characters were always beautiful women with long hair. It is a wonder I’ve always had long hair. It is an even bigger wonder that I love to take pictures of things I find beautiful and meaningful. And even more ironic, the fact that I loved to write, about love, of course. It must be true what they say, that what you do as a child is preparing you for what you will do as an adult. In my case, it did. I love words of all kinds, long words, short words, words I’ve never heard before, and words that were all together yummy. I am evident!