The idea of writing is one thing - for me it's like breathing, it's something I love doing, and it sometimes is something I have to do. The idea of writing for someone else to read my work, is entirely another thing. It is inspiring, it is horrifying at times but always it is humbling.
When my brother was here visiting last week one of the first things he asked me about my retirement was if I was writing. I answered him by saying that Yes, for sure - I was writing my blog - not as often as I had hoped, but still - I was writing.
He wasn't satisfied with my answer. His comment to me was "Dale, I have read both your books, and loved them both, not because I am your brother but because you are a very good writer. Don't waste your talent - get writing again!"
I do have intentions of doing that. My problem is that I do a lot of things well. It is a gift, I know that - but it can be a curse as well. It is very hard sometimes for creative people to focus on just one thing - most of us want to do it all - yesterday! I admit that since I started writing this blog in April 2010, that I have convinced myself that writing for my blog was enough for me. That is not quite true. With this post I have written 575 posts that I have published to the blog, and there are at least 30 still sitting in my draft folder that I have never published for one reason or another.
If it were enough - I would quit writing. I am not going to do that.
I am going to dig out the 4 unfinished manuscripts that are in the bottom drawer of my desk. I am going to read them and then load the files back on my computer and get to work... Not today, but soon.
But right now, I am going to bring forward a Poem that I wrote a few years ago. This poem was published in a Special Christmas Edition of the Country Woman Magazine. I have posted it here before, but that might have been a couple of years ago so for those who are new to my blog... here is CHRISTMAS IS.
A frosty night, a home so warm, with loved ones gathered near;
Christmas everywhere we look; will Santa soon be here?
Mom is baking one last time; the tree is trimmed so bright;
Daddy tells us all the tale, of Jesus born this night.
Children rush with cheeks so red, and eyes lit from within;
They wait expectant for the gifts, that only come “from him”.
Grandma smiles - remembering, another year long past;
Her little ones, her special ones; how could they grow so fast?
The meal is done, the kitchen’s clean, we gather round the tree;
Amid the laughter, smiles and tears; our hearts now full of glee.
One by one we share our gifts, no soul is left behind;
Excitement spills around the room, in wondering what we’ll find.
It’s love that makes us gather here; not food, nor gifts, nor wine;
Young and old, wise and not; together for a time.
Love for one and all we meet, will make this Christmas right;
Just like that one, so long ago; on yet, another night.