Since I was eight years old, the dream of being published & paid for my work, is similar to a relationship with another human being- except, the struggle is within.
*has, come and gone
*crawled back- begging for mercy- with speeches that have earned me standing ovations.
A eulogy so moving- someone wanted to borrow it?
(weird, I know, but it happened in 1999)
My writing has brought comfort to the grieving, tears of joy to those achieving milestones and recognition to the humble, under appreciated and overlooked.
Although it’s been a long tumultuous relationship with my writing- after 4 decades, I wouldn’t change anything.
Still, unpublished and unpaid-
the deep emotion I can read on their faces...touch’s my soul.
To my disbelief, years later, they still remember.
I’ll never know why...
My writing, does not need me!
I need my writing-
(and sometimes? They do too.)
God Bless ❤️