Thursday, June 15, 2017
Today I am grateful to be writing in paradise. I am a writer. Saying those four short, simple words still shocks and amazes me. Even though I write nearly every day at the computer and every day for sure in my head, sometimes I still feel like I am a fraud.
I have no novel. I’ve published a little, but not very much. Yet there is so much to say that I am never at a loss for words. Blogging has allowed me to exert my voice whenever I want. And people read my words. Sometimes they comment, but even if they don’t I allow myself the fantasy of picturing strangers at their computers, or on their phones; a smile curling the corner of their lips, or a chuckle rumbling in their belly and exploding from them like fireworks; or that feeling when your eyes fill up because some sentence, some phrase tugs at your core. Yeah that. I picture them. I picture you. And it fills me up like sand in an hourglass, waiting to turn over and fill me up again.
But how did this happen? How did I come to be at this spectacular location on a lake with five great women. Virtual strangers. Writers! One and all! Talented people with books and stories and poetry. . .and me. . .the fraud.
What caused a retired hairdresser, actor, director, sculptor, artist, secretary to be writing in paradise? “You should come!” the hostess wrote. So I did.