Have you ever considered what it means to write? According to my old diary tucked away in a drawer, I've been writing down stuff since I was 10 years old. Over the years I've had the privilege to write for various publications and to teach writing skills to children, teachers and college students. It doesn't matter whether I'm reading someone else's work or composing my own piece...the written word never fails to thrill!
Whether relief from worry or a release of joy…writing has always helped me...even rescued me at times from whatever life presented. But the one time writing couldn't rescue me was when
my husband passed away. He laid down for an afternoon nap and never woke up.
I could not write.
Losing him after 47 years of marriage
was the final blow that destroyed my cocoon. You know; that place that
insulates, envelopes and embraces us from birth. I had it all…happy childhood,
wonderful husband and the joys of being sandwiched between my parents and
grandchildren into my 60’s. The death of my folks in recent years was hard, but not as devastating as losing my guy. My cocoon was suddenly gone and I was a hesitant butterfly with wings unprepared to fly alone; to find my way into an unknown future. I couldn't write for a very long time. I was afraid to write about death,
sadness, pain, guilt and fear.
Mostly, I was afraid to write alone.
He was a writer and editor, a guardian
of language and my cheerleader. Earlier that day I took this photo in his
office and added the quote he was so fond of. It reminded me how we spent our
mornings in retirement; sharing our excitement and joy of the written word over
coffee. I love how much our reading/writing
connection kept us close all those years. He proofed every piece I wrote and
gave me the go-ahead to publish. More time went by with me filling drafts and
notes with random words, but I still had no desire or voice to use them.
And then I did it…I
wrote.
Putting bits of my usual happy into the terrible sorrow of my heart, I managed to create Till Death Do Us Part. I
put in a disclaimer that it was done with no sounding board or editorial check;
worried I’d embarrass myself with errors and typos. I felt both relief and release as the words poured out and made sense; a kind of peaceful strength when it was accepted. Finally expressing these feelings about loss helped move me forward, helped me begin to heal.
Writing rescued me after all!
Next I wrote about the things I'd learned and managed on my own in Becoming a Widow. Little did I know that finally sharing my thoughts and experience would not only bring responses of welcome back or well done; but an outpouring of gratefulness for putting into words what others will someday need to know.
Writing became the breeze I needed.
Writing rescued me after all!
Next I wrote about the things I'd learned and managed on my own in Becoming a Widow. Little did I know that finally sharing my thoughts and experience would not only bring responses of welcome back or well done; but an outpouring of gratefulness for putting into words what others will someday need to know.
Writing became the breeze I needed.
I’m growing more confident with
writing now; contributing to websites and working toward eventual
publication of my Dad’s war experiences. Somewhere along the way I reached
down deep and found that my parents and husband had been preparing me all along
in those happy-go-lucky cocoon years. I feel their presence at times with warm,
fuzzy feelings of accomplishment or that inner voice that whispers ‘proofread
one more time’…definitely my husband!
He equipped me really well to
fly alone...
but I’m never far from hands that lift me up on this journey. Amazing writers and authors continually offer me encouragement and guidance as I learn to soar alone. It’s not a cocoon, but a soft warm throw that hugs me just the same. Here is what I've discovered about my writing:
but I’m never far from hands that lift me up on this journey. Amazing writers and authors continually offer me encouragement and guidance as I learn to soar alone. It’s not a cocoon, but a soft warm throw that hugs me just the same. Here is what I've discovered about my writing:
1) What am I working on/writing? I have my parents’ love letters from the WWII years and I’m pulling bits and pieces of them together for their memoir….or maybe it’ll be mine since they reflect the beginning of me! It’s overwhelming and time consuming trying to narrow it down, connect threads, weave something meaningful for my family. I’m also gathering old letters, news clippings and magazine articles about my husband to show my grandkids what a respected, accomplished man he was. Only now the spotlight will shine solely on my voice.
2) How does my writing differ from others in its genre? I write about family, life and love as others do….but probably much more gushy-mushy, sensitive and emotional. For many years I was a two-faced writer; news articles for my husband…who weeded out my fluffy, wordy details for just the facts…and creative journaling in my classroom. This was where my penchant for over-sharing, over-stating and over-doing colorful sentences really blossomed. Nowadays I can pretty much balance the two. Reading books and articles and poetry of various genres and styles helped. This wealth of knowledge plus polishing my own writing gives me confidence.
3) Why
do I write what I do? I think of my writing as an outlet, not an obligation. I write
because it helps me organize and analyze my thoughts and feelings. I’ve always
expressed myself better through writing than speaking. I like to savor and share things. If I can paint a picture
with my words and weave stories out of sentences about my family and my life, I
am happy. I love how words go together, the rhythm and rhyme of words.
4) How
does my writing process work?
I have unfinished drafts and notes lying around here and there and entries in the
journal I use at bedtime; so I guess that’s my start. Sometimes my
words flow together smoothly, other times I stumble with word choice; or I
fumble with descriptive details when a short, punchy phrase would work better. My third grade grandson, completing a
writing assignment, explained this to me about adjectives: “Describing words
can ‘up’ or ‘down’ the meaning...so you have to use wow words to up it.” Pretty cool! I go back and reread constantly, visualize and rephrase. It’s all reaction and that’s the key. I’m a fan of the
old sloppy copy...get it all down, then go back and react, edit for technicalities! Proofreading is a big deal for me, but what matters
most is if my voice can be heard. When I covered news events years ago, I
worked on deadline. But I don’t really like writing on demand. I’m more
comfortable writing when I’m in the mood, when I have a fun adventure to tell or a problem to work out.
Music and standing up are important as well. Since becoming more health conscience and physically fit the past few years, I’m aware that too much sitting is harmful. My laptop sits waist-high in front of a window where I can see the woods. With music playing I stretch, wiggle, do leg raises and strengthen balance by standing on one foot. This helps me focus for a couple hours, keeps me limber and makes me happy. I listen to Zumba class routines, movie soundtracks, current tunes and my all-time favorite oldies!
Writing is
Music and standing up are important as well. Since becoming more health conscience and physically fit the past few years, I’m aware that too much sitting is harmful. My laptop sits waist-high in front of a window where I can see the woods. With music playing I stretch, wiggle, do leg raises and strengthen balance by standing on one foot. This helps me focus for a couple hours, keeps me limber and makes me happy. I listen to Zumba class routines, movie soundtracks, current tunes and my all-time favorite oldies!
Writing is
