Identity finds us, sometimes slowly, sometimes soon. I am one who waited ’till it almost passed me by, yet lingered, so I’ll linger still, beneath its quiet ministry, its tender forming of my will. Aah, gentle breathes extend, reach to find a momentary peace, and stretch to fill the empty void, awaiting words not yet employed, who in the wings anticipate their leap at fate, their turn to lift a heart to cry, a smile to form, ideas to fly. As words release, extended, shared, my spirit laughs to form this prayer. Hope is found in who I am.


See the Story

I completed several pieces of writing in May. One went to an online magazine, the other to a poetry contest. A number more poems were written, I began organizing some poetry for a book I’d like to do this year, and I began editing a short story from last year’s NANOWRIMO.

Illogically, I felt bad that I did ‘nothing’ as I’m very conscious of neglecting this blog. That reasoning is more typical than I like, but I’m growing into a place where I see myself more clearly. When I write it out I can see how much I got done.

The truly hard work of writing has to do with the story I tell myself about myself rather than any I write for publication. Slowly, I’m fighting myself less, listening better, understanding story; I may get the hang of this after all.