Copyright © 2011    All rights reserved.

Artist, Singer/Songwriter, Writer
Photo by Linda Ross

The first time I dabbled with excitement in creative writing was in the eighth grade when our English teacher gave us the freedom to write anything we chose. My imagination soared! I worked so hard on that assignment, a mystery, and proudly passed it in to her. I waited with growing anticipation for the day she handed back our papers and, then, I could hardly stand that she had left mine until the end. Perhaps she was saving the highest mark ‘til last? Finally, with that one lonely paper fluttering about in her hand, she looked sternly over the spectacles perched on the end of her nose and pronounced something to the effect, “I marked yours much lower than usual. I can’t believe you wrote this by yourself.” My hopes were dashed. I swallowed my words along with the lump in my throat and accepted the paper with embarrassment in front of the class. I went back to my seat.

I never tried so hard in school after that but I never lost my desire to play with words. Today, they dance to my melodies and stand alone as poems. My writing exists for my own pleasure and, as a consequence, I hope, for that of others. I have written poems, children’s stories as well as several short stories and have won publication through contests. The only time I tried to write a play, I entered the first rough draft in a competition and won its performance in a theatre. What a wonderful experience to witness my words on paper actually come to life! The second draft of that play still waits in the wings...I must get at that…someday.

In the early 1980’s, I won a prize from the Nova Scotia Writer’s Federation for writing an extended children’s  story in verse about Captain Kidd’s treasure on Oak Island, a local folklore tale. It still awaits revision and an attempt at publication. Someday…

Two of my poems, “A Mother’s Ledger” and “Dunes”, won publication in two separate anthologies, the names of which escape me now. Both are buried somewhere in the dust of my attic. The books will likely be tossed unknowingly after I’m gone.

In the 1990’s, I sent a poem to a publisher who was soliciting material about women’s issues. Weeks later, when the envelope containing the verdict arrived, I couldn’t bear to open it for many days. It hung in postponement like a judge’s sentence. Then, one night, about two weeks later, as I was having trouble sleeping, I went downstairs to the kitchen for some warm milk. I stared apprehensively at the envelope and somehow, blearily, in those wee small hours, I mustered the courage to open it. My poem had not only been published but had been illustrated as well! And there was not a soul awake to tell!

My office, indeed, my entire life is and has been cluttered with scraps of paper capturing fleeting ideas as well as many not quite completed attempts. Sometimes when I run across some scribbled words while looking for something else, I’ll read them with absolutely no memory of ever having written them! Ah, the muse is so fickle! Once having visited, she hardly ever returns in the same way.  

I keep hoping that someday I’ll stop dabbling and get my act together, write more and try to get some projects published. I guess it’ll be after I figure out what’s holding me back. Could it still be what happened in grade school?  Surely not after all these years?  Anyway, perhaps that’s another mystery.

So, please, dear reader, if you have travelled with me this far and stayed this long, make another cup of cybertea and feel free to wander through the creative writing. I trust if you wish to print anything, you will be kind enough to note credit and copyright. Thank you for your respect and for making our world a better place with your consideration of/on that issue.

I sincerely hope you have enjoyed stopping by. Please invite your friends to visit here as well.  Thank you for your time and interest.


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