‘You are a writer’, she says. In my heart I do not believe. I have no training and such awful grammar. My sister Juliana continues, ‘you love it’. My second book is just about complete. I can feel the moments in the stories. Though I am frightened to tell.
It is not pretty. I made many mistakes. Opening the closet to show all the laundry. Is it not the creative process? Organized chaos? Much better than the later. Safe havens of what could have been. I have to push myself to write.
Like someone who has forgotten to walk. Labels left in boxes with dresses never thought. Forget the debate the misbehaves, CREATE DAMNIT! Finish the last chapter and send off to the editor. Comfort leads to ignorance. Put yourself out there. It becomes less scary that way if you do it over and over again.
Me on the left with a little bow, Julie with Snowball our cat and Grace on the right.
Found a national geographic from 1969 about Bali. My first book on the nightstand to remember to finish second.
Box full of my branded ribbons to put on dresses.
Beads waiting to sew.
