Tag Archives: writing

I Am a Writer.



I said no, probably at least three times in as many ways. I was not going to spend $297 on an online course about writing. Why bother? I knew what I had to do to write- I just had to DO IT. I didn’t need writing experts to tell me that. I don’t need creative writing prompts and ideas. I have many ideas in my head- I just lack the discipline and drive to get them onto paper.


Today, I am eating the ENTIRE humble pie. I am grateful for humility. I am grateful for politely, yet firmly, telling my arrogant know-it-all self to shut up. I am grateful for my remembering that I am worth investing in, and that I can afford. I am grateful for pleasure, self love, and being playful. For laughter and vulnerability. I am grateful for Waking Up.




After three no’s, I said Yes to easily, one of the most profound experiences of my life, completing the Setting Your Writer’s Voice Free course. There was no doubt that once I began it, that I would complete it. But, what I didn’t know definitively was what I was seeking in it, at least, not in the very beginning. What I thought the reason was that I decided to yes to this course, was so that I could increase my chances of getting published, which has been a long held dream of mine, albeit out of reach in my mind. I also believed that it could help me to become a writer and get paid for writing opportunities. I was even pursuing some at home writing options to be able to stay home, get paid, and in between, work on my big book. I thought that by getting the ears of two well known, published writers in this course, one of them being SARK, whom I have adored for years, I would then know the “secrets” of becoming “successful”. 


And, I was scared shitless to find out. And, to encounter other writers who, most likely, would be better than me. Who would judge me secretly for not writing “stories”. Who would live in different parts of the country, or the world, that enabled more success in these efforts. I was scared to be judged, and to find out that the dream of being a writer would only ever be a dream. 


In our first session, we were reminded by Dr. Scott that we each have our own unique voice, our own perspective of the world, and it is our contribution to the entire symphony of the Universe. Although, intellectually, I understood this, I wondered how that could be true? I mean, wasn’t the sign of being a good writer that people could easily identify with what you write about? How unique could our voices be? And, was there really room in this world for so many unique voices to be heard? To be published? To be successful? I was, again, so filled with fear! Wanting to defend myself to people that I hadn’t even met yet. I was afraid to read the writing of others, and see how much better they were at expressing themselves than I was. 


One thing that I love about myself, is that even when I feel afraid, I plow through and try something anyway. I take a risk. However, with that comes a canoe full of self doubt. An ocean liner, for that matter.  THE TITANIC. Yep, it feels that dramatic at times. So, I started slowly, reading the samples of writing that other persons in the course were posting. I made comments, but would worry if I sounded genuine or fake? Am I over the top in my praise? Then, they might not have clicked “like” on my comment (this is a Facebook page) so I wondered, what does that mean? Still, I kept going, I kept reading, and I started posting my own writing on the page. Many people saw my posts, but hardly any likes or comments. What did that mean? Oh no! I suck! People don’t get me! Yet another external “confirmation” for me to see myself as a freak, an oddball, not fitting in anywhere. Yet, I kept at it. I kept reading, and I kept writing. I even posted a link to my blog, and wondered if that was “too much” of myself. 


Beautifully, something shifted in me after our first two sessions. Something broke open that had been locked up within me, and although I perceived that something as being unavailable to me, I was wearing the key to unlock it around my neck. I don’t know if it was belief, acknowledgment, or a deepening understanding. But, one day, I just suddenly saw myself as a Writer. I no longer called myself a person who likes to write, who is taking a course, a person who wants to BE a writer. I put the key in the lock, turned it, and heard it click:



I had never said it before. The word writer gets used for those that are paid for their writing. Who have their words published on paper. Blogs don’t count- that’s not REAL writing. I had been invested for years in not seeing myself as a writer, even though my love of writing had been encouraged and nurtured in me since I was ten years old. It filled me up, it brought me joy, and flutters to my heart, butterfly wings in the soul. My writing drew persons to me, bees to the flower, by the dozens. Yet, I only saw the action, I didn’t see who I really was. The moment that I unlocked those self imposed chains, I was free. Free to write endlessly and fearlessly, just for me. Free to savor lusciously every tidbit of writing that others posted. Free to gush and goo and revel in all of that magic deliciousness. As I read the writings that my fellow writers shared, I remembered that there is an open invitation and space for all of our voices, and, that all of our voices together is what creates the most beautiful music. 




Sure, solos can be exciting, and having a spotlight just for me can create a sense of importance. But, it is fleeting. It disappears quickly and I am left with emptiness. Community of voices is pure, unique, inviting, and warm. It is the first hot chocolate of the fall. It is delicious, satisfying and comforting. It reminds me that I am not alone. I am among friends. I am love, and I am loved.


I am in the nurturing stage of turning the soil, planting the seeds patiently, and caring for each tiny vessel to burst to life. I write wildly every day- at home, at a cafe, at the office, when I travel. I am filling books and using colorful pens. I am stunned at how different I feel when my words appear in purple ink, rather than the standard black or blue. It calls the joy of it back to itself. It is savoring the richness of chocolate cake with an inch of frosting, decadent and delightful. Every bite more delicious than the last. 




I have tools and solutions if I feel discouraged, overwhelmed, or unmotivated. I have a community of new friends to cheer me on, and I get to do that for them, too. I am writing poetry, prose, and inspiration. I have set myself free to fly high, and to ride the wind and trust that it will carry me where I will best and most safely land. I can trust that this path is not only my writer’s path, but my Spirit path.  I am Home. 









I have been thinking a great deal about being inspired lately. I mean, I often feel inspired to write, create, and to expand and be my true self. However, lately, with new love in my life, I feel more inspired than ever. I feel awakened to the life that I am creating.

For me, as I reflect on it this morning, awakening means two things. It first means my arising in the morning, and before my feet touch the floor, getting totally present to the gratitude that I have for my life. I take five deep breaths, stretch my body, and give thanks for what ever compels me in that moment- for love, for my family, for a healthy body. I have so much to be thankful for, I always have much to choose from.

So awakening means that to me, appreciation for the dawn of a new day, and what it will offer to me, and I will bring to it.

It also means, awakening to the deep calling within me to be inspired, each and every day, to tap into the energy that is me and my uniqueness. To write, draw, sing, express, receive- all human actions that keep me fully engaged and interacting with my world. When I am dancing with my life in that way, I feel so alive and present to what I am being offered in that very moment.

Yet, I get scared, scared for it all to go away, scared to run out of ideas or time or money or energy. What I am learning is that fear is really fear of my Higher Power, my God, my Great Spirit- whatever it is that best represents my faith and is always watching over me. When there is fear that lingers in those places, or doubt about the vast nature of my presence here, I feel less inspired, more impulsive and frantic.

Today, I am actively embracing this moment, still minutes before dawn, to be present to that which I want to take into my heart, to ease that fear and free me to be inspired to create my life’s masterpiece today.

This morning, I am choosing peace over fear, and awakening my soul to all realms of possibility.


The writer in me.

I can remember when I first realized that I had the heart of a writer. I mean, I always kept diaries or journals when I was growing up, but somehow, that didn’t feel like writing to me then. It felt like a much needed escape from the world that obviously didn’t understand me. How telling about writing, right?

I was a freshman at Marywood College, now Marywood University, in Scranton, PA. I was naive, and gullible, and so willing to learn. I had a class that year, called Writing Skills, that all freshman students had to take to get the basics of writing and literature set as our foundation for four more years of learning. I was privileged enough to have the master, Barbara Hoffman, as my instructor. She changed my life that year.

The first day of class, she arrived in a clown suit, and she had a trunk in the classroom, full of trinkets and things to inspire us all, and to help us to fall in love with writing. She even popped a bottle of champagne for us all the sip, the celebrate the magic of the written word. She was extraordinary.

The types of assignments that she would give us were not your typical reflection papers or academic essays. She had us bring a mirror to class, look at our own reflection, and write about it. She had us write about the closet that we imagined of our favorite famous person (at the time, for me, Elton John!). But the essay that I wrote that solidified my love of writing, was writing about the Hershey’s Kiss.

She brought kisses to class, and had us write madly as we examined, ate, and savored those kisses. Write about the total experience, she advised us. Get present to this object, and taking it in, and write it all down. It was really one of the most profound experiences of my life, getting present to my life experience, AND recording it.

What kept me writing, was that she saw my gift, and she absolutely cherished it. When I would get any paper returned, it was covered, top to bottom, in scrawl of blue or red, commenting on almost every sentence, and then ending it with a full paragraph of advisement, on how to take my writing to the next level.

She was absolutely brilliant, and a gift to me and my world.

I hadn’t thought of Barbara for a very long time, until today. She passed away five years ago, quite suddenly, and I felt her passing deeply, although I had not had contact with her for over twenty years. Her presence in my life deeply impacted me, and awoke the sleeping writer in me.

So, Barbara, today I salute and honor you, in all ways that you should be honored, for showing me what I had within myself.

My reflection

Okay, I am leaning over, looking into the pond of my life. I am seeking what it is I truly see in that reflection, in that face that is looking back at me.

I see beauty, at least some of the time.

I see honesty.

I see love, pure love.

I see child like soul.

I see an insecure being.

I see a person who is afraid at times.

I see a person who wonders if she will be truly cared for.

I see a fat person inside a slimmer body.

I see a forty seven year old woman who doesn’t look forty seven.

I see life.

I see hope.

I see a past, present, and future.

What about my core values of love, of truth?

I see both. I see love as pure as anything else, flying right out from my soul, and shining like moonbeams from my eyes. I see it as clear as if it was an actual image before me.

I see love in my smile, that has lines and sincerity and purity in it. It is lines that are there for love given and not received, received and not understood, and reciprocated.

I see truth; truth of what is to come, truth of what I only know, truth of my soul and all of its desires.




Being, and being here, right now.

I am looking deeper into myself than I have ever have before.

My dear readers, I am so grateful for all of you that come, read, some comment, some do it anonymously.

However, I must confess something.

Although I have written here on this blog about my beliefs regarding life, love, beauty, lessons, and experience, about living in the moment, I am but a human, and these are lessons that I am still having to learn.

Inside this secure exterior, is at times, a very insecure, child like person.

A person with a need to be loved, and not forgotten.

I am no guru, or expert. Heck, I am not even a life coach yet.

However, I WILL be. Bank on it.

I just want to tell you all that I am unique, and I do see my own beauty, love and truth at times.

And, I am also insecure, scared, and uncertain at times.

I have often defined myself by how I see myself reflected through others, through the waters within their souls, and how they show it back to me. That is in part, my truth, but it is also, a mirage.

And, I am still finding out who I truly am. Maybe, for the first REAL time in my life.

So far, so good.

Thank you, from my soul depth. For all of it.

Write where you are

Yesterday, I had a strong desire to write. And write. And write. Yet, I was at my desk at work, sneaking time here and there on Facebook, ideas swirling around in my head, hankering for my desk at home and trusty laptop. So, on Facebook, through my status for the day, I sought advice.

The best advice that I got was from a former college mate, Kate, who suggested “write where you are”. So simple. Yet, so telling for me.

It has become almost second nature for me to truly be where I am. Enjoy the moment. Face the challenge of the setting, or situation, and tackle it one moment at a time. But, in having the desire to write, and to not be where I was at the time, I wasn’t staying present. I wasn’t in the moment. Instead, I was wishing it away, wanting something else besides what I had before me.

So, when I read Kate’s sage advice to “write where you are”, I interpreted it in two, very dramatic ways.

First, simply write at the location that you are currently at. Don’t let the fact that you are not at home keep you from what doing what you are being called to do. And, for those types of needs, I carry with me at all times a journal notebook that my girls gave me for my birthday this summer, for that very reason. So, when I am inspired by an idea to write about, I have it handy to jot down for later. So, I truly could write where I was at the time.

Second, her words reminded me to be PRESENT. To stay right where I was at that moment. To make the best of it and take what I could from it. That rang so true with me when I read it yesterday. I guess I must have needed to hear it, or read it, or remember it again. Although I try to be ever present, much of the time, I fall short often. Consumed by what I feel like I need to do. I am getting better at it, but the reminder is never lost on me, because it is always well timed to when I most need to hear it.

I can see what I want and need coming to fruition, in each moment that I allow myself to be present and take in what the Universe is currently offering up to me. I know that what lies in this very moment is preparing me for what comes next.

So, from now on, I will certainly do my best, to write, where ever I am. Be still. Be present.