Blessed. Here’s this special space I live in. It’s where I’ve been, and it’s where I dwell. It’s a place of grace and a place of joy, and there’s darkness here, as well. Here’s the span of my existence where, I’ve lived from high to low. It’s the place from where the words release, and that’s all you need to know.
I was 9 years old when my father bought me an old 1950’s Smith Corona Silent Typewriter at a basement sale in the building in which we lived. I can still remember the black and red ribbon that made colorful the stories I’d tap into existence. I can still smell the oil on my fingers every time, while typing, the keys would stick, and I’d need to free them. Even then my mind worked faster than the technology I had at my fingertips-I needed to get things down, What I’ve learned about being a writer is that there are no rules, No one thing that can keep you from penning the things you are compelled to bring into the light of day if it holds your heart. Uplifting. Spiritual. Love-driven. Horrific. They all surface for a reason. From the lovely to the tragic and disgusting- you bring it to life because you are compelled to do so. So with that said, I hope to make a difference. I hope to shine a light on the lives that we live. I hope the lovely bit of my writing brings joy, a familiar memory, a reason to reach out. I hope that the dark in my words shine light on the continued need for changes in our societies to protect those unable to do so for themselves. Uplifting. Ugly. Sometimes a little of both. I’m a writer. So regardless. I write.
This is me.
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