A Return to Writing
I started out a writer. I toiled hours in my room typing on my dad’s Apple IIC (yes–I am that old). I remember my first broken heart–when that Apple exploded and took 300 pages of the book I had spent the entire summer writing with it into oblivion. Yet–I continued to write.
I was selected for a college scholarship and job which consisted of writing short articles for a very selective, exclusive audience. Yet–I left that job.
On and off through the years, I have kept a journal. I have taken college courses and delighted in the speeches and the writing assignments. Yet–I left my dreams of being a writer.
I have come back to it fifteen years later as an adult with fewer expectations. I do not dream (much) of writing the great epic. I ask only that my thoughts and my words reach one person that may benefit in some way from them. I ask that one person either laughs, cries, or smiles.
Life has a way of forging a person. I have been struck by the hammer, bent on the anvil, tempered in water and emerged a harder version of myself. Yet–myself, I remain, so I have come back to being… a writer.