Living as I do now in this ‘Writer’s World’ has changed my life irrevocably. Until now, I had never really paid much attention to the way I used to write when I was younger, how the need to furiously scribble down words would overcome me at the most unusual times and when I least expected it. How, when this happened, I was utterly compelled to write these words down, I had no choice in the matter.
It all seemed so natural to me but I kept it quiet.
This was something I did quite prolifically as a teenager into my early twenties and then I was immersed into the world of full-time motherhood, my joy, and although there were times over the following twenty years or so when I felt this same urge to write, they became fewer and fewer.
Back then, my writing consisted mainly of keeping journals (although these would have huge gaps in them, sometimes years at a time never mind a day or two) and, when I lived away from my family in America, of pouring my heart out in letters written to my mum on great reams of delicate, pale-blue airmail paper. I still have many of these letters and the letters my mum wrote back to me.
In later years, these letters turned into rambling emails, but I never thought to print them off…
In writing my posts and sharing memories from my own childhood as well as those of my children and the different experiences we have shared, I have recently been thinking even more about my early life. My childhood seemed good to me for the first ten years of my life when my family was happy, to me at least, with my mum, dad and brother.
Then it was all ripped away.
However, this isn’t about blame or bitterness or recrimination. Goodness knows, it was a long time ago and I am truly thankful that I have my wonderful family’s blessing to write about these things because they know that I write about them only to work out some kind of inner turmoil that raises its ugly head from deep within me from time to time and which I need to share.
By sharing these things, by laying my heart bare here, I realise that I am finding my way back to the person that I once thought was so very lost.
That proverbial rug has been pulled out from under me so many times in life that I wonder if this is why I have always felt that I never really belonged, or that I fit in, or that I was part of the crowd. Always on the outside looking in and wondering why I felt so different and alone.
This surprises those who know me because I love nothing better than a great party, being with family and friends and enjoying the world around me. A childlike wonderment of the simple beauty of life has never left me so that I think that perhaps a part of me never really grew up. I am still that little girl who likes to write my name in the sky with sparklers on Bonfire Night and make up silly dances given half the chance.
Yet, there is a darkness about me that lives quietly by my side, walking in my shadow, saying nothing yet whispering constantly. It compels me, draws me, ushers me into its familiar and strangely comforting world.
It is there that I find the key to my writing.
It is there that I am able to unlock the dam so that the torrent of words are at last set free to tumble over my walls of doubt, soaking everything in its wake yet giving rise to what has, until now, laid silent and still, buried in the silt, hidden but not forgotten.
It is by entering this dark world that I can find my way out again, back to the light, back to the goodness of life, of God, of you.
An old friend has returned to me – the compulsion to write poetry once again. It might be rubbish for all I know, but it is what I need to write and because of you, dear friends, reading this, for whom I am ever thankful, that I feel confident to share it. There are rules, how-tos, how-not-tos, how to be successful, or not, as the case may be.
All I know is that sometimes, when you take everything else away, all you can do is follow your heart and let the words flow.
This is how writing has changed me.
I wrote this poem, which I called ‘The Power’, one night last week right before going to bed when I had a few things on my mind but I was certainly not thinking about my childhood when I wrote it. That old feeling of being compelled to write wouldn’t let me go. Besides, my husband urged me to publish it here, so you can blame him.
Thank you so much for allowing me the freedom to be the real me, the writer who now resides in this new ‘Writer’s World’ with you.
So then, here we go.
This is not what we wanted after all.
In a moment of madness
When I loved you in a smile
Desperation killed the hour,
Stole the dream.
Ran a mile.
What was it you really wanted?
Did you mean for me to die?
Better, my dear,
That you pull the trigger
Than hang me out to dry.
Curse the growing darkness
When I awake in black of grief.
In but one moment of madness
When I believed you were my all
As you lay so still beside me,
Wrapped up in lies.
A mocking thief.
Can the second tick into
A single minute of my time
When you stole the very essence
Of the life you said was mine?
As you ripped me bare and laid me
Naked, on your cross
sacrificing the very trust,
Never pausing to count the cost.
Shred me on your altar
Of a self-deluded dream
Plunge your knife in deep and good
Cast me out into the hard, cold night
Don the executioner’s hood.
Pass the sentence.
Wield the axe.
Send me to solitary and melt the key.
Strip me of all I am
Do all you want.
Then bury me.
Yet remember this, my love,
When you dream your witch’s spell;
As you enter the abyss,
When you walk into your Hell.
Put on your shallow make-up
To paint away your face.
Enshroud your pretty body
As you burn my long embrace
In the flames of your desire,
Yet not for me, but they –
They who bow down and worship you
In all your glory-be.
Yes, remember this, my love,
In your final worship hour –
You will never see my face again
For it is I who owns your power.
For it is I who owns your power.
(c) Sherri Matthews 2013
Fantastic poem, Sherri. I read it a few times.
It’s probably none of my business but I have to ask, what happened in your childhood that “ripped it all away”? Please don’t feel obliged to say if you would prefer not to. I am just curious.
Thanks so much Rachel, I never believed that one day I would be sharing my poetry on the internet like this!
No, it’s fine, I have touched on this in previous posts about my family life. My dad is an alcoholic but his drinking wasn’t too bad in the early years of our family life from my point of view but was not good for my mum, which of course I didn’t come to understand until years later.
Mum left Dad and we moved to Suffolk from Surrey very suddenly and I had to leave behind my home, school friends and the life that I knew to live somewhere completely alien. I also gained a sted-dad who I grew to detest.
The thing is, I don’t blame this ‘one thing’ for any-one-thing and actually I thrived at my new village primary school after we moved. We also had some great times growing up in the Suffolk countryside as you know!
Sadly, my dad’s drinking got worse and by the time he was in his 40s he had lost everything. He has spent the last 35 years or so in and out of prison, where he is today. Miraculously he is now 81! We have all come a long way.
Thanks for sharing, Sherri. An alcoholic in the family must be a very tough thing indeed. I’m amazed your father hasn’t developed any health complications as a result. It sounds like it would have been a very difficult time, especially for your mum but good that she had the courage to leave.
Yes, thanks Rachel, it hasn’t been easy and for my mum it was not good. Dad’s drinking got much worse in the years after she left as he now admits he turned to the bottle and that was that. I was 13 when I first realised that he was an alcoholic and I then witnessed his decline over the years to come but of course I didn’t live with him then.
Mum, however, gave us a good home and life.
My dad has suffered many health problems, usually due to the severe episodes of his drying out yet he has come through them all. It is prison that has saved him because then he isn’t drinking.
Nobody can believe that he is still alive.
C’est la vie 🙂
Oh Sherri, your poetry is far from “rubbish.” This post and your comment to Rachel is beautiful and so revealing. The difficult times you’ve endured have made you the lovely and loving person you are today…you broke the cycle that often exists in alcoholic families, and for that, you should be proud. I can’t wait to read your memoir.
Thank you so much Jill, I am really humbled by all you say here. I wrote a post about my dad back in the summer, if you would like to read it here is the link: https://sherrimatthewsblog.com/2013/08/09/my-dad-the-great-train-robbery-a-game-of-cricket/
It will give you a little more insight into our relationship which you might find interesting!
Wow, thank you for sharing that link, Sherri. What a moving and heartfelt post. I would love to read the story that was published in Prima. Like Jenny, I don’t have an iPad, but if you could e-mail it, that would be great. My address is firstname.lastname@example.org. I loved the photo of you and your dad.
That’s great, thanks Jill, I had a feeling you would find that particular post interesting, if that is the right word!
Yes, by all means, I will definitely email you the copy of the article a bit later on this afternoon 🙂
I couldn’t reply to your comment above, but no rush on emailing the article. I know you’re busy, but I’m pretty patient. 🙂 I can’t wait to read it! Thanks!
You have a natural talent for writing rhythm and metaphor, Sherri. I think you’re doing just the right thing. Simply writing through the emotions and memories can by extremely healing and liberating.
I’m convinced that all writers feel like outsiders in some way; we all have our many complex reasons for feeling isolated, alienated, and broken. It’s all part of the compulsion to write–because we instinctively know that writing can build bridges of understanding, and we strongly need those connections. Keep on!
P.S. I have way too much experience with alcoholism. I was fortunate in that my father quit drinking when I was 6 (I touch on that story in my memoir); but his involvement in trying to save other alcoholics taught me the deep truth about exactly how destructive the disease is, and exactly how grateful I must be that I didn’t live through that hell during my childhood.
I was spared from that particular trauma; but I’ve had plenty others to contend with.
Oh Tracy, I know from reading your blog that you have had to overcome many difficulties in your life, but as you say, thankfully living with an alcoholic father wasn’t one of them.
As I’ve shared above, my dad’s drinking escalated after Mum left him so I wasn’t living with him but I stayed with him during school holidays, Christmas, summer etc. enough times over the years to witness the devestation that his drinking caused.
Interestingly, my first article which was published in Prima magazine back in April was about my relationship with my dad and since then our relationship has grown stronger. He gave me his full blessing to write anything I wanted about him as he wants to help me. In the end he has actually given me a gift, the gift of being able to write and share these stories from my life (and his) so that hopefully I can inspire others, as you have done, to show that it is possible to overcome and live a life well lived!
Thank you, as always for your wonderful encouragement, and yes, for helping build those very connections of which you write 🙂
PS As I shared with Jill, if you would like to read more about my dad here is the link to the post I wrote back in August:
Actually, I did live with my dad’s drinking until I was six–and the first years after he quit drinking were not very stable, either. Recovery doesn’t happen overnight. I mean, he stopped drinking, but he wasn’t really mentally healthy.
It’s quite amazing that you have a relationship with your father now. That in itself is an important story.
I’ll be going over to your August post now…
Yes, I can well imagine. It sounds as if your dad did the one thing I always hoped that my dad could do which was to get sober, dry out and help others. Sadly, he never was able to.
I can quite imagine that your young years would have been very difficult living under the shadow of your dad’s ‘recovery’ (not to mention those early first six years of your life when he was drinking) which, as we both know, isn’t really a recovery but more a state of ‘managing’.
Thank you Tracy for sharing your very personal experience with alcoholism here and for your wise insight.
Thanks for providing the opportunity, Sherri. My dad deserves a lot of credit–it wasn’t easy for him, but he did manage to stay sober.
But I also have compassion for those who just can’t manage it–alcoholism is a terrible affliction and incredibly difficult to live with.
This gives me great hope about good intentions. Your dad couldn’t help himself, but you are right, he gave you other gifts. In contrast to your step-dad, who gives me the shivers just thinking about him, your dad had warmth.
Relationships are complicated, but thinking the best about people and trying to make the best of what we have is simple.
Yes Denise, this is the thing. Through it all, despite my dad’s drinking he never, ever harmed me physically or abused me although of course he couldn’t ever be there for me, yet in a way he always has been there for me, by just being my father who loved me. I always knew that he loved me and that is what kept us together.
As I’ve shared in other comments, I have at times hated my dad, been so angry with him, wanted to disown him, when I was younger, because he let me down so many times, but when I came to the realisation that he would never change and that I was not responsible, nor could I ever ‘fix’ him, then, at last, I had total peace about it all. It was at that point, very recently, that I was able to write about it!
You are so right, it really is about making the best of what we have. I never had a conventional dad, that is that. So I have to make the most of the dad I do have.
The only thing I regret is that my dad was not there to protect me. I would change that in a heartbeat.
And to all those who consider and comment upon the difficulties your family faced, I here publicly applaud and commend you for the deeper and lonlier difficulites you as a young child faced – and how you overcame them! You are an inspirational person and a gifted writer!!
By being able to share these memories from our past we can make sense of them and so be able to see how we have grown and how we can then, in turn, help others with what we have learnt. That is all I’ve ever wanted to do…to write and to help and inspire others. If I can do this then I know that I am far from lost.
Thank you CM, as always, for your wonderful support 🙂
Just continue writing Sherri. Let the words flow. Sometimes they may make no sense at all, at others they just need to be worked on. Your writing comes from your heart and your experiences. Your followers appreciate that about you. And poetry is a natural outlet for emotions. I look forward to reading more.
I just bash out whatever comes at these times and I find it so liberating. It’s just so great to be able to put them here on my blog and to share them with this wonderful community! Thank you as always Jude for your greatly appreciated input and encouragment 🙂 x
A wonderful poem Sherri. I am truly touched! Don’t think about the ‘how-tos and how-not-tos’ of writing. That is more for professional copy-writers than creative and intuitive ones. You share your story, and we are all here with you reading your thoughts. You are a writer 🙂
I know I’ve written about this kind of thing before, in different ways, when I’m feeling ‘stuck’ or unable to express myself and so have just let the words flow, but this is the first time I’ve published one of my dark poems! The thing is my poems don’t usually rhyme but sometimes they just do as this one did!
Thank you so much Ilka for your lovely comment – from one writer to another 🙂
It was moving poem, wasn’t it? I don’t think it needs any professional touches. It was so raw and the images and feelings so haunting.
It’s interesting what dark places do to writing. I think the dark places are ambiguous and make us think and therefore makes for more powerful writing. By ambiguous, I mean darkness is difficult and complete and frightening. But without darkness we would not be the people we are, and we would not appreciate light. so I think we are drawn to darkness, whether we like it or not.
Thanks so much Denise. When I write like this I don’t edit as if I try to do so it just takes away what I want to convey. That’s why I thought, yikes, I’ll just put it out there and then blame in on my husband!!! I’m rotten aren’t I?! (of course, I say this tongue in cheek…!)
Yes, darkness and light are so intertwined and I do believe that by experiencing both we are actually the richer for it when sharing our life stories.
Great poem Sherri, truly heartfelt. You need to throw away the rule book and, like Jude says, let it flow.
And as for feeling as if you’ve never fitted in or been part of a crowd – well, you are part of this crowd, right here, and we love you: You fit right in here with us 😉
On a more serious note though, I do think writing can be a very healing process – I know I wrote my more emotive stuff just after my Dad died, which helped in so many ways. We often need moments like that, sad as they are, to find our real hearts and minds and discover the things that really matter. Like you, I’ve always been a scribbler of notes and words and letters and it’s only lately that I am becoming more disciplined and finding the way to go with all of this. And you will too x
Ahh, that’s really lovely of you to say Jenny – thanks so much, it’s really great to be part of this ‘crowd’ and you are a lovely friend. I love it 🙂
I’m touched to know that you expressed your emotions through writing after your dear dad died, and now you can start to put it all together. You are a wonderful writer and I would be priviliged to read some of your work from that painful time should you ever decide to share it xx
Great post and poem, Sherri!
Thanks so much Bill!
What an emotional poem Sherri. I felt the heartache reading it. I wish I can write as beautifully as you.
Ahh, that is so lovely of you to say, but you do write beautifully Jhanis, I love your writing!
Very moving poem, Sherri. I find I can’t write poetry unless I am very sad. I haven’t written a poem in years, so I guess that is a good thing! 🙂
Thank you Bev. I’m the same, I can only write poetry when I’m feeling quite emotional about something, hence this poem. I had in mind my son’s recent breakup for one thing…say no more.
That is a good thing that you haven’t felt sad enough to write a poem and I’m glad about that 🙂
I agree, this is superbly written. Powerful. Not sentimental. With new confidence. 😉
I am a believer that writing is healing. This poem gives me the idea that despite the pain and suffering, your mother overcame her powerlessness and with head held high, shows her strength of will before she leaves.
Many thanks Tess for your affirmation. Writing is indeed healing in the most powerful way and I can’t think of a better way to let it all rip out 🙂
Keep it up. 😉
I will, thanks so much.. You too Tess 🙂
Such strong writing, Sherri, with a stunning proclamation at the end: “…Plunge your knife in deep and good Cast me out into the hard, cold night Don the executioner’s hood.
Pass the sentence. Wield the axe…” ~ and then, at the end, the zinger ~
“For it is I who owns your power.”
You have the poem, and then as you explain background and details in your comments, you tell more stories.
You have your own style, technique and approaches, Writer Sherri. The writing is in you.
Marylin, I really don’t know how to reply to this – wow, I’m quite stunned to be honest. All I can say is thank you so very much, I can’t say what this means to me…
Great post, Sherri. You, my friend, are a deep thinker. As I read your posts, I live your story. You have a way of taking us down that intriguing path, which ultimately, opens our eyes to that heart felt experience you want us to see. Writing has changed my out look in life. I wrote much, but as a Behavior Therapist. My writing, or reports, dealt with much heartache, not enlightenment.
A seasoned author told me once, that if I were going to write for the enlightenment of others, I would need to change my style, and relate a story, not a report of a negative nature. “Write from your heart, not from observations of a malady.” I guess so. Unlike you, who had first hand experience with respect to alcoholism, I did not have to be confronted with that individual, except during the counseling sessions. I could leave those problems at the office. Not you. That part of your life left some deep wounds and scars, which I believe, you have been able to overcome.
Continue to inspire others who have experienced similar difficulties. We all have a calling from God. Yours is writing. You continue to fill voids in other hearts, in addition to yours. Blessings.
Dear Johnny, I never thought in a million years that I would be writing about my experiences on a public platform such as this blog, much less receiving the kind of validation that I read here from you and everyone else here who has shown me nothing but utter kindness. I am quite speechless (or should I say wordless!) with gratitude, and that’s saying something for someone who can talk the hind leg off a donkey!
Things are starting to make some sense to me now. I can see that although I wanted to write, properly, for so many years, the time just wasn’t right as I needed to come to that place of healing, forgiveness and at peace within myself. I felt so washed up for so long, that I was getting too old to do the things I wanted to do, and part of this writing process has shown me how wrong I was thinking like that.
If I can truly inspire others through my writing then I know that I am indeed answering ‘the writer’s call’ and that, my friend, is what I want to be able to achieve above all else. Now I can see that none of my experiences, despite all the pain, trauma and heartache, have been for nothing.
Blessings to you too and may we both continue to write from our hearts 🙂
You have no idea as to how many you will reach, and how many will realize that they are not alone. Blessings.
Dear Sherri…. I’m glad that you have the corrage to share your poem with us all. And I liked the bit about blaming your husband if no one liked what you wrote. It is nice to have someone to fall back on. Enjoy having the time to write.. whatever it shall be. I used to write in a diary- and tons of letters- most of it is gone now- but I find writing about life events on WordPress to be most enjoyable. When I finish my blogging year up I’m going to convert my posts to a book with ‘Blurb’.. I am so looking forward to that moment.
Ha Ha! Well, I had to blame someone, right??
That sounds like a great idea about turning your blog into a book. I’ve heard about Blurb, but I would love to know more about it when you have a minute to spare, ha!!
I too used to have a diary but also like you I got rid of it. It was when I was 16 and it was very angst ridden, all about a boy!
Thank you as always Teishka for taking the time to share your thoughts, I really appreciate it 🙂
I will definitely let you know about Blurb books once I put one together- my idea is to create a few to separate my blogs…
I always try to find time to read your posts.. they are so interesting!
Thanks Tieshka, look forward to hearing more 🙂
It’s nice when you can express your deepest thoughts in the fluid words of a poem. I’ve never been able to do that and admire that gift that you have, Sherri.
Unlike you, the words don’t come to me easily and compel me to write them down. I struggle with that and really have to have an inspiration to write something. I think it comes from having a pet peeve of reading and writing as a kid. Now, that I’ve totally turned that around I’m sure there are remnants of it still.
Well Pat I wouldn’t have known it judging by the wonderful writing you share on your delightful blog – your writing has a lovely flow to it and I so enjoy reading all your posts while sitting with you for a while around your ol’ kitchen table swopping stories of life 🙂
Thank you, Sherri — that’s warm and kind. I know — who woulda’ thought? I guess that’s why I’m not as prolific in my posts but I love it when I do pop one out there. I love the company in sharing my stories with others and the feeling of connection when someone can really relate.
I’m happy to have you sit round my ol’ kitchen table anytime, Sherri. I love listening to your stories. : -)
Hi Sherri this is a wonderful post. Heartfelt, moving, and honest. And I really enjoyed your poem. Would you like to write a guest post on my blog and share about how you’re writing your memoir and how you are rediscovering the writer in you once again? I love your way with words and your honesty and I would be honored to host you on my blog. I understand if you are busy–so please don’t feel any pressure.
Hi TB, and wow, I’m honoured that you would invite me to guest post on your blog, thank you so much! I would love to share my writing story, or at least where I’m up to at this point in the story! – with your readers, absolutely delighted in fact. What sort of time frame are you looking at?
Whatever time frame works for you. Just send me an email or comment on my blog when you are ready. I’m looking forward to reading your piece. Here’s my email: tbmarkinson (at) gmail (dot) com
Thanks TB, will certainly do so. I’m really excited!!
Sherri, now that you have started to open up through your writing, has it made you feel more a part of things, or do you still feel as though you’re on the outside looking in? The reason I ask is that I have experiences the same swish of words coming out of me, but still feel like an outsider. However, I do feel more comfortable being this way now. I just wanted to know if this is an individual response or if others go through this too.
Hi Glynis, many thanks for posing this very interesting question and if you would like to read more about my feelings on this subject, I wrote ‘This Writer’s World’ which you can find under the header title ‘My Writing’.
I can honestly say that being able to write and to share it here, publicly, and to have had the amazing support and feedback from so many lovely people, friends, has set me free so that I no longer feel like an outsider. I had no idea that this ‘writer’s world’ , this community, existed until I started my blog, so it has been a revelation to me.
The only time I ever felt that I ‘fit’ was when I was a full time mum, which I loved. Then I went through a time of feeling very, very lost. This is the first time since then that I’ve felt that I do belong, that I am no longer an outsider.
However, I have learnt to embrace the fact that we all do indeed go through these stages of experiencing this lonlieness and alienation, as Tracy above shared so beautifully and I am now able to see that this is infact not a bad thing, but all part of the creative process and of building bridges with one another as we keep writing and expressing this through our ‘swish’ of words (love that BTW!). This is just what you are doing Glynis! I hope this helps!
Such power in that poem, lovely piece of writing preceded by a very heartfelt prologue – as always, a very join in-able (my brain is unplugged this evening, can’t think of the word I’m after!) journey of twists and turns. I can so relate to the feeling you describe, when things are tough, and you feel that you’re outside of the circle. I did not realise you had been through so much; it must have been so difficult but it seems to me and clearly to others that you have fought back and come out stronger for it! No rainbow without rain, and all that.
Have a splendiferous weekend 🙂
Ahh Steven, as I always say, you have a lovely turn of phrase. I think that should be added to the dictionary… ‘join in-able’. A great expression! Thank you very much about the poem too!
Well, life has its ups and downs for us all, life’s rich pattern as ‘they’ say. It’s only now that I am writing about them and sharing them here, but it has been so good to be able to do so because the community here is amazing. Just for us all to be able to share our ‘ups and downs’ and then to be able to offer one another support and encouragement is so important. I certainly don’t feel on the outside here!! Bring on those rainbows, yes 🙂
You have a splendiferous weekend too (another word for the dictionary according to Steven, love it) 🙂
Keep writing your poetry, Sherri. It’s good that something so creative can form from our innermost thoughts. And don’t throw it away … like I did. I wrote quite a bit of poetry, when I was younger, on the nights that I couldn’t sleep. I wish I still had it now to revisit those thoughts and feelings. So, keep it all, Sherri.
Thank you Lesley (sorry, Lee!!) It really is good to be able to create from whatever thoughts are tumbling around and I know that at those times I just have to write. Why it is in poem form at those times I don’t know. I kept a few poems from my younger years but not many. It is good advice to keep it all, certainly from now on, I will remember that 🙂
Sherri, I think it’s because poetry lends itself to playing around with words. It’s the ideal form for expressing emotion. For me, prose is about telling a story and poetry is for taking the time to dwell on thoughts and feelings, and other senses.
A really powerful poem Sherri, particularly the last verse. The way you write about where your writing comes from is also really powerful.
Thank you so much Andrea. It is something I always hope to achieve, convey the emotion that is tumbling out from deep within. Even if it is from a dark place at that given moment…
Such a compelling poem, beautifully written.
Thank you so much.
A beautiful, powerful poem Sherri! You sure are a very talented writer.
My dad was an alcoholic, but I didn’t escape the abuse that comes with it. So glad that you and your father currently have an amicable relationship. My father passed away a few years ago and never really apologized for his drinking or the physical and mental injury that it caused.
Thank you for publishing this post… it took a lot of courage. You are not alone…
Hi Theresa, and thank you so much, you are so kind.
I’m so sorry to read about your dad being an alcoholic and even more so that you didn’t escape the abuse and then for your dad to pass away without there being any real sense of closure must have been so difficult to bear.
My dad never apologised for his drinking and the great harm it caused so far as the worry and the upheaval until quite recently but it wasn’t until his last time out of prison last summer that he has since said he won’t drink again. This remains to be seen of course. I try not to dwell on this and instead enjoy what relationship I have with him now even if just talking to him on the telephone for a few minutes once a week…
Thank you so much for letting me know that I am not alone, and Theresa, neither are you…
S, looks like we could talk all day — if only motherhood (with a little one) would allow me. I am happy to know and share in your journey as it emerges into your own consciousness. The poem is among the best pieces of writing on this blog – of course, in my estimation. I did write a post on the color of writing, and how it’s been an inverse journey for me, that I no longer need the darkness for inspiration (not that this is EXACTLY your situation), but absolutely — it is so helpful to be able to harness the magic and power of words to make sense of our life and make our way toward healing and closure.
Sorry if you’ve seen this. You just brought to mind what I shared of the (new) place of poetry in my life this year, how I got started again:
Yes Diana, I do believe we could converse all day long if time and commitments allowed for it! I have read your poem and commented, thank you for sharing the link. It is a story of tragic beauty. I know you know what I mean when I say this.
It is at certain times when I have to delve into the darkness as events unfold about me that I have to let the words spill over like this. I never know how they will end up and I never edit them at times like these. Although I shared something of my past here, this post was only meant to share a part of my writing journey. This poem was written late at night to get something off my chest which had nothing to do with my earlier family life but everything to do with an upsetting time that I had been helping somebody very close to me heal from. It was written from their anger, their hurt, their pain. As I saw it.
Diane, I value your input, your insight and your support of my writing so very much and I thank you so much for taking the time to read and comment in such an indepth way, especially as I know how busy you are at this time. It means a great deal to me x
“It was written from their anger, their hurt, their pain. As I saw it.”
To enter the story of another.
A seed post in my head.
What an excellent article. Thank you so much for sharing the link. I felt in so many ways that I was reading about myself. I shared your article in a few spots including putting it under my favorite blogs on Pintrest. The post just really hit home.
Oh Wendy, thank you so very much for coming over to read this, I just felt so strongly to send you the link as I was reading your post, it touched me very deeply and I could understand everything you expressed in it.
Thanks so much for sharing my article, this means the world to me. You are a wonderful person Wendy, bless you.
Thanks Sherri. I feel the same about you. 🙂
I know you published this post over a month ago, but I’d saved it to read when I had some uninterrupted time. Your poem is so vivid and I really LOVE that last line: ‘For it is I who owns your power.’ I’ll be cheering you on as you continue to work on your memoir. Don’t second guess yourself…you’ve got the gift!
This means so much to me knowing that you saved it and then read it, I am very honoured that you should take the time to do this, thank you so much. You have shown me nothing but kindness and support and I do really appreciate it so much, I never take that for granted. We are on this writing journey together and I take great comfort from that.
I just signed on for 6 months of memoir coaching (beginning in January), with hopes of finally getting my manuscript fully completed. Once it’s all done, then I’ll decide whether or not to pursue publication for it (I’ve always leaned away, but we’ll see). Just having it completed in a manner I can feel satisfied with will be terrific sense of accomplishment in and of itself …and having 2 professional sets of eyes helping me along the way will bring validation to the final result. That’s my hope, anyhow!
Sending all good wishes to you this holiday season!
This is so wonderful for you, and I do wish you every success in your writing. I will keep this in mind as I get down to my memoir in a serious way in January as I’ve come to a bit of a halting stop at the moment.
How exciting for you, you will certainly have such a sense of accomplishment and with the help and guidance along the way you will gain so much confidence that I’m sure you will decide to publish! I can’t wait to see what happens…
All good wishes to you too my friend 🙂
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