What is a Writer

"What is a writer?" I used to ask. I didn't know exactly what a writer was, thinking it was surely someone much more than what I was (whatever that meant and whatever I was). I thought of a writer as someone who wrote big beautiful books for me to read; I didn't write big beautiful books for you to read (or any kind of books) so I wasn't a writer. I thought of a writer as someone who was a well-known name; I wasn't, so I wasn't a writer. Truth is I was 'just someone who wrote some poetry and a few short stories'........I wasn't a writer.

As time passed and after joining a writers' group I eventually learned that a WRITER was someone who WROTE.........it was that simple. Whether I ever publish big beautiful books or my name becomes 'household', I write, so I am a writer.
Writing plays a big part in my life; I write poetry, I blog, I write short stories (some true, some fiction). Through my writing I am able to show my family how much they mean to me (I write poems for my grandchildren; their birthdays, sometimes Christmas, other occasions or just because). Being able to express feelings by writing, was a meaningful outlet for me when my daughter Carla passed away. Putting my thoughts on paper allows me to express, in artistic fashion, many facets of my life and the many emotions that make it full. I am able to reach other people and touch their heart with my writing, whether it is to make them smile or shed a tear; that is rewarding.

Writing is something I can do at home, away from home, at work, at play, on the move, in big spaces, in small spaces, outside, inside, with a pen, with a pencil, with my computer, in the morning, evening, middle of the night.........the list is endless; how many things can you do that offer as many choices in which to act, as that?

I find topics (or sources) to write about from everywhere; even places or situations that wouldn't seem to offer one possible spark of an idea.......that is, if I stay aware and keep my eyes, ears and nose peeled for the seeds. In addition to finding sources for writing all around me, I sometimes write from Writing Prompts. Wherever I locate my notions, if the writing bug bites at the time, I must write about it (whatever it might be, serious, funny, sad, crazy, or even frightening) at work or play.

One thing for sure is that I love to write and when I stray away from it for a time I feel like something is missing. I get a sense of accomplishment when I have written my idea or thought to completion.

WWU Writing Prompt May 12/12

Dear Me

Now then…….it’s 5:00 am (just like you say to me sometimes) and I have never been to sleep; not ever; not since I was born; I don’t get covers; I don’t have a pillow; I don’t go to bed; I don’t even have a bed to go to. Do you think that’s a little unfair? You tell me all the time how you can’t sleep because this, that or the other has ruptured your soul by some act of unkindness or some thoughtless deed. I listen; I let you pour out your heart to me. I never judge you or your actions. I keep your secrets. I am always here for you. Do you think you could at least hold me tenderly before you throw me into your drawer or better yet do you think you could hold me to your heart for just a moment; let me feel its beat; then place me some where warm and soft where I might at least be glimpsed by other people instead of having to stay hidden away in the dark drawer, underneath all your undies smelling of laundry soap and fabric softener? Do you think?

  

My jacket is in need of repair; it has holes in both sleeves. My insides are so tattered and worn; some are going to fall out soon; most are filled with, or waiting to digest emotional confessions of one sort or another; many are wrinkled and stained from the tears that fell on them; few are left on which you could give me any more food for thought; what will become of the whole when the parts are full? I worry about that. Will I be tossed away to remain in that dark drawer forever with the laundry scent, or worse will I be tossed away in some trunk and taken to the attic to be found by someone maybe 20 years following? I can’t let that happen because I have vowed to keep your secrets. Don’t leave me behind unprotected or I won’t be able to keep my promise to you. That will crush me if I must betray you.

I feel so alone when you aren’t filling my insides with grumblings, happenings, words and thoughts. Sometimes there are periods when you abandon me for weeks on end; seems like those are your happiest times; I hear your laughter but I don’t get to feel it. I would like to feel the happy times too; not just the trials. I heard you tell someone just the other day that your beautiful grand babies were coming to visit; how excited you were to be seeing them; how much you missed them; all the things you were going to do together. If only I could have felt your excitement inside of me; just hearing your words isn’t the same; hearing about the things you will do is not the same as taking me there with your pen. I want to feel the sunshine in your heart. Do you think you could share the happy times with me?

Do you think?

This is what has been keeping me awake………. Dear, Dear Me.

Will That Be Filled or Pulled

June 14

Ah yes, that most enjoyable of events; the visit to the dentist. Over the years I have met some extremely nice dentists but I am still unable to bring myself to be happy about seeing them (however nice). I have never met anyone who has expressed joyous anticipation over a visit to their dentist; have you?

As I think about it, the dentists must feel bad that people don't look forward to seeing them...........or do they know? Hmmmmmm, perhaps I will ask my dentist when I visit tomorrow. What shall I say?........."Where you aware that nobody likes a visit to your chair?".........Well, I will think of something I am sure.

Tomorrow I am having bone grafting done in preparation for implants; not exactly sure why I am putting myself through this seriously expensive procedure but I have made the decision and there's seems to be no turning back now.

To prepare for this big event I needed to get a prescription (which turned out to be four different things)..........instructions for which I needed to call to have clarified. Gone are the days of the two dental choices; will that be filled or pulled?

The possibilities for dental fixes today are quite amazing.
June 15

Procedure done, day half gone, drink for lunch, freezing out and now I am really wondering now why I decided to do this grafting thing. For the moment it is very painful; hope it improves soon; Ava's birthday party tomorrow (hoping I feel like attending).

Dinner time; another drink for dinner; got a bit of rest during the afternoon; feeling much better; should be ok for Ava's party.
June 16
Three am; can't sleep (not because of mouth).
Just occurred to me that I visited the dentist and neglected to ask whether she knew that nobody liked to visit her. While waiting to be called in for my appointment though, I read, in a magazine, an article done about my dental company wherin they covered and commented on that very thing & how they were trying to find ways to put people at ease over dental visits. Good luck; you surely haven't done that for me yet; maybe if I had had implants when I was born none of this would have to happen now. (Think of the money saved over the years). Ridiculous idea you think?........maybe not.......and who knows what may happen in the future. After all the concept of 'Will that be filled or pulled' is forever gone and been replaced with todays many amazing options. One day we may be able to switch out our teeth to match our outfit (like we do shoes).
OK OK I will quit now.........will just wait for healing, stitch removal, then the next procedure in this long process.

True Friends

This is a piece I wrote May 25, 2006, and decided to post it on my blog as I think about 'friends and friendship'

Laughter, shouting and giggles she heard; all happy sounds from so many children; there were kids playing ball; some running about on the end of a kite string; others just sauntering across the grass; still more on the swing.  Sitting in a chair with her coffee, she looked reflectively out the window across the playground.  It was the swing that captivated her gaze; the back and forth motion lulling her into a dream-like state; taking her back to another time so long ago.

In another place a swing was carrying her up into the air towards a feeling of freedom from realities on the ground.  As it slowed there were children milling about, all smiling at her with their hands out.  Ah that was it.  They wanted some of the candy she had tucked away in the little pocket on her dress.  Sweet little candies; various pastel shades; some heart shaped; some circular; all with writing on.  Some said ‘I Love You’; others ‘Will You Be Mine?’; there were some that just said ‘Friends’.  That’s what she longed for, friends; someone to play with, talk to, spend time with, smile at her.  They were all there talking to her, not paying any attention to the funny little accent she had acquired after going to school in England.  She was happy and excited to have friends at last.  As she smiled now, there was a warm feeling bubbling around inside her.

Her new friends pushed her up high on the swing; she felt like she was an eagle soaring in the clouds. She closed her eyes and smiled; content with her newfound playmates. The swing slowed again; she once more shared candies all around with everyone. They again pushed her up high into the sky where she could relax and think about tomorrow, spending time with her friends. Slowing to almost no movement at all she noticed that everyone again had their hands out. She reached inside her pocket and brought out the bag that contained the sweet little morsels only to find there were just two left. Oh well she thought I will have more candy another day. She herself had only eaten one candy from the bag; the rest she had offered her friends. The two candies were quickly snatched up by a couple of hands; the bag went flying to the ground. She felt rather sad that the candies were all gone but she was happy she had new friends.

To her dismay, she was quickly pushed from the swing and away from the group who now were making fun of her because they said she talked funny. That took her back to school in England where she had also been teased because she ‘talked funny’; where she had been punished because of all things, she drew a line down the centre of the page in her arithmetic scribbler, the teacher slapping her desk so hard with a ruler she became terrified and started to cry. Her teacher came to her home and reported that she cried at school every day. Her mom and her aunt along with her teacher tried desperately to figure out why she cried every day. (I can’t imagine can you?) She had only one little friend who would play with her, a little girl called Heckie who she will always remember.

Finding this swing episode all too hard to understand she wandered over to a quiet corner of the playground where she sat on the ground against the fence. How could it be that no matter what she did they said she ‘talked funny’? When she went to England she thought she talked like everyone else. They didn’t think so. She somehow picked up their way of talking ‘proper’ and now she was back home and the kids here said she ‘talked funny’. As well it seemed they didn’t want to be friends now that her candy was all gone. This was just too much for one little girl to grasp. What would she do? She felt so alone.

Back in her chair, with her coffee, looking out the window across the playground, alone, she realized that her shirt was damp from the tears that were falling. Reality returned as she listened to the sounds of the children playing outside. This daydream seemed to come back for her every year around Valentine’s Day as soon as she spotted the sweet little candies with the writing on. She found them in the store & brought some home every year. The ones that tugged at her heartstrings most were those that simply said ‘Friends’. They seemed to serve as a reminder to her; a reminder that all people are not true friends; a reminder about how she should take very good care of her friendships.

Mocha Finds a Baby

It was just a teen weeny little bunny. Mocha found it and she wanted to take care of it. When George realized what Mocha was busying herself with (licking and minding a little rabbit) he picked it up and brought it up to the house (we were at Eric & Robins). Mocha was insistent upon trying to turn it over on its back so she could lick its tummy (much to the rabbit's chagrin). Robin decided that she should do some research and maybe keep the rabbit so she put it in a box and we took it in the house. Mocha was beside herself trying to get into the box and get to the rabbit......................she was pretty sure that she had found a baby to take care of. Mocha (before she was spayed) seemed to have a cycle during which she would treat one of her little toys as a puppy, tending it, bringing it to us to look after while she went to eat/drink etc., cuddling with it, generally taking care of it as if it were her baby. It was sad sometimes to watch her because she tried desperately to get this toy to respond, to move, to live.

Tesla was not as impressed with the little rabbit as I thought she would be. She petted it but didn't pay it too much mind; certainly didn't pay as much attention to it as Mocha.

Anyway, information was that the rabbit probably would not survive if we tried to keep it so we returned it to the place Mocha found it. We hope that the mother would still accept it back after we had handled it and Mocha had licked it all over.

Sorry my little Mocha; no baby for you to raise; I know you would make a wonderful mommy.