I remember when I was younger I loved writing, I would sell reports to kids at my high school for only ten bucks a piece. They never got anything lower than a B, or B- if that low. Well now a days they don't even use grades any more or that is at least what my daughter's fourth grade teacher is telling me. Grades have been replaced now with things like proficient, and need improvement some jazz like that. So much has changed, as life rolls onward. Any way I used to make up and write short stories and fantasy stories about all kinds of things. But my favorite was poetry, I hated to read it but loved to write it, once a teacher of mine entered one of my poems in some local news papers writing contest. She had told me only after she had done so, she also told me that I had won the contest, I was young and really honestly didn't care much for this English teacher. Her words went in one ear and quickly out the other. It was years before I ever really cared about what she had said. So much time had passed and my life had been filled with so many disappointments and failures, that this information had become important to me. Something I had also done was written a poem that was published in a book of poems, this too was something I didn't even care about until later in life. Sometimes I sit with pen in hand or fingers over the keyboard and try so hard to write poems, poems like the ones I had written that people thought were so beautiful. I guess at the time I was just letting out some of the emotions I had never expressed as a child, for me it was nothing but for others they were a source of beauty or enjoyment. Now I wish I could look at some of those works to use them to reflect on what was going on at the time, or to even show my own child. It's just the same for my drawing, I'd draw such funny things yet never kept a collection for myself, even now I usually mail them off inside of letters to my best friend Kenny in Federal prison or my soldier that I adopted. I feel like they would give them greater joy because of the places in which they have to deal with at this time in their lives. My older sister Nicole helped make a book to place my drawings in, we used about half a ream of paper and we took it to Kinko's where she used to work and they placed two cardboard covers on it, than bound it with this spiral thing to make it into a large sketch book like. Even with that I barley draw in it, I usually opt for a single piece of paper and pencil, than later mail it off.
I want to be able to go back to writing for pleasure, or even drawing to collect for myself. Maybe paint myself of picture and hang it up for others to see, admire the fact that I do have a God given talent besides being a person that just gives gives gives and takes care of others. I would love to be known for much more than just that. I want people to see the beauty that I see inside my head when I put wonderful words together, but they just don't seem to come out right. The thoughts just don't translate to words, paper or screens the way they do in my head. Somethings just not clicking the way it should! I mean writing is my first love, I broke my cherry at like nine years old with a type writer, an a little story named "Pickled Pink". It brings laughter to my heart just thinking about that little twenty five or thirty paged story in which I put together in my mind, it just flowed out my finger tips like life water flowing from a water fall. Where is that desire, passion, drive, skill and beauty that I used to possess?
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