Thank you to WordPress for Writing 101 for Restarting my Writing

One, I moved. I moved from almost one coast to just one mile from the other coast. Two, I traveled to Alaska in a car with my spouse and a big black dog for four trips. Yes, to Alaska:  Palmer, Soldotna and downtown Anchorage.  Three, I sold my house and am still in process of selling the property surrounding it. Fourth and not last, just in the sequence of events; my husband dies and my writing withers.

Recently, I have written two poems and am feeling “unlocked”. I have stories and two books under the roof but no finished projects now. I am planning to use this challenge as a way to get back to making submissions. I am questioning whether I need a writers’ group or a reading group. Since I have not been writing, I turned to what I had read in an email book from a group of writers including Joyce Carol Oates, John Irving, and Amy Tan (and others); I read “literature”. Literature is, I consider, stories and writing that last, that guide living and that inspire me. The books I have read in the last week: House of Sand and Fog, Anne Lamott’s All the New People and now, John Dufresne’s novel about how love can make you feel. I am on my way.

Being published is important to me; but, writing has always been my release.  If you read my blog, you will see that I

already explored being “second” as the sibling of the little prince.  Born first, pushed aside during my fifties; now, in

my sixties as a widow, very thankful other sibs are caring and wanted to give hands-on daily contact.

 

As you work and walk

I do not think I will ever

forget him.

Dodging my car while I loaded the groceries,

I caught him near the bumper at the edge of my eye’s frame.

Fifteen, maybe, sixteen, nearly one half of his body

disabled

and I wondered how and why.

I wanted to ask him what happened.  With little medical training,

I observed the length of his limbs and they appeared normal size;

now, to him, useless.

But, he dragged his other half,

his frozen self

and continued on up the street

in the bright sunshine.

Where was he going?

Was he coming from the high school nearby?

Is he getting the help he needs?  Physical therapy?

Encouragement? Love of family and friends?

At sixteen, I had had a traffic accident.  The only scars

were inside.

They have lasted a lifetime.

I will not forget you.