Saturday, July 11, 2015


I'm not a fiction writer.  At least not today I'm not.  I don't know what I am really.  I know I'm a writer.  But a writer of what?  I'm a story teller of what I see and experience.  I've been told that I need an artist to create a cartoon strip for my little stories from the garage or with my husband and kids.  Or make a daily calendar  Blue'isms.  Or just make a flip book with my Facebook posts on it.  I could also write about the miracles that God has done for us throughout our lives together.  I could write about our love story.  I could write a book that could make you laugh throughout it or write one that would make you cry the entire time.  All true stories. 

But today,  I feel I should write about weight loss and my struggles with it but its not like its enough for a sizeable book.  I know there are small quick read books that are being sold everywhere, but how would one do that?  That would mean needing a publisher, right?   This is way bigger than I am and I'm feeling lost in the forest of trees that each have book titles and subjects carved into their trunks as I run around to each one as a new one sprouts up every time I turn around. 

How does anyone manage to sort through this maze of words, phrases, thoughts, sentences, memories, and ideas that flood your minds?  It's all quite maddening on most days.  How do you authors ever manage to sort through it all?  A memoir writer has to relive things.  Things that have been long locked away.  Things that are not ever spoken about.  Making up fictional characters and stories is one thing, but reliving things, and then sharing those things for the world to dissect, shred, and criticize is a completely different thing.  I'm scared of what my fingers will take me to.  So I avoid writing what I'm supposed to be writing. 

I am a coward.  And if I ever do finish writing anything and actually publish it, I will add one more story to my book of miracles from God because it will surely be a miracle.

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