The long journey back home

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.