Sunday, March 16, 2014

What's Your Story

Anyone can put words on a computer or paper. Anyone can write. But, not just anyone can get what they've written published. Why?

There are so many people out there trying their hand at writing. We all want to publish a book?

Ask yourself. Are you willing to go the distance it takes to learn the art of writing? To polish and rewrite and accept rejection? Are you willing to throw it away and start over, if it wasn't an acceptable story? Are you willing to keep your day job, and keep trying?

Do you want to write no matter the costs? And it is expensive.

How far are you willing to go?

I would like to hear some stories from many of you, whether you are published, trying to get published, self-published, or just beginning.

I know there are a lot of writers/authors out there. So, please let me know what you've done that works, and maybe a little of what doesn't work. We all have a story. What's yours?

Sunday, March 2, 2014

February/March Memories!

Really? February has come and gone. March 1st passed before I realized it was March 2nd. Now that is busy.

It is a miracle I survived the month. One of my daughters moved back to this area, and I'm thrilled. I had to travel to Houston and help her pack. Two 26-foot trucks with trailers pulling vehicles behind them later, and we arrived in one piece. What an ordeal to move six grandchildren, ages 2 to 20. I'm exhausted, but so excited to have them so near.

The very week we returned, my 90-year-old father and his wife, along with my siblings and their spouses came for a reunion. Sad story, short, my father is in later stages of Melanoma and this may be our last reunion. It was our first in what seems like forever. I didn't want to see the week end.

I love my father so much, and the tight hug he gave me at the airport will remain with me for a very long time, my lifetime. We exchanged "I love you," and he said he loved me more and it became a debate as to who loved who more. I felt 5 again, then 10, then 18 and going out the door. I felt 25, 30, 40, 50, 60. All the years he has loved me flooded through me like a rush of wind blowing through your hair. Life IS just like a rush of wind. My last view of him was sitting in a wheelchair waiting to be rolled through security, his slumped shoulders from age and hard work, and his beautiful silvery white hair shining from the bright lights in the airport. I remember his blue eyes as he looked at me for the last time. These memories are mine forever, and I will miss him dearly when he succumbs to the fight.

I remember him young, vibrant, and full of spirit. His laughter so contagious that you thought you'd die if he kept it up. I love so many more things about him, including the sacrifices he made for his family. I love him and am proud to say that I am the luckiest daughter to have had such a wonderful dad.

We come. We live. We die.

My father loved our mother, loved us, and he taught and instilled within us great values. He made mistakes like all people, but he still loved us all. He was a magnificent dad. He worked hard for all the years I can remember, and had many friends.

Guess you could say he did his best.

Time is not our enemy, it's our best friend. May we all use what we have and spend it like the precious gift that it is. It won't be long and I'll be 90. It's a puff of wind away.

Write on.

This is my beautiful Dad.