I’m really not sure what the main focus on here will be… my photography… the ramblings of a wild woman… my very tall soap box… we shall see.
I’ve blogged before, but never on Tumblr, so, for my very first blog~ a little about me.
I used to write a lot. I wrote several times for UIL events in school, and always placed well. Persuasive writing, mostly, and very convincing. I used to write stories. Actually, they were partial stories… because I would just start writing without any brainstorming and then lose interest when I wasn’t sure where to go at some given point. I wrote poetry and lyrics. Beginning when I was in junior high, I compiled a “slicker” full of hundreds of songs. HUNDREDS. I wish I still had them. I even composed music on guitar for one of them when I was in high school. I was convinced that I was going to perform at Lillith Fair- with my one song. I would write letters. If I got upset with someone, I usually wrote what I was feeling in a letter to them. It was the only thing I could think to do to truly express myself, an uninterrupted soul purging. You never questioned where I stood.
When I got divorced from my first husband, I tried my hand at writing a book about the emotions that came along with a gritty situation like that. It was meant to be somewhat funny, with poignant undertone. When I read what I had begun writing to myself, it was clever and honest. The poor guy who read the first little bit found it a little depressing. I have a somewhat dry sense of humor. How to translate that into print? I guess if I were a comedian, I’d be one of those you either hated or loved. No in between.
Aside from little notes here and there to people on birthdays, etc, the last time I wrote something meaningful was in 2008. My father was dying of cancer. His body had gone from somewhat robust to eaten up with disease overnight. It was about halfway through his 3 month prognosis, when he was still “with us” and knew who I was, that I wrote him a letter. This letter was full of sorrow and love and repentance. Of forgiveness and hopes and promises. Another soul purging. My father did not have to question where I stood. And like he did so well, we never spoke of it.
All of this to say, I guess I’m going to start writing again. Probably poetry. And you might hate it. But you’ll know where I stand.