need to have my say kicked in. (Referred by some as my “soapbox.”)
Over
the last forty years, the only things I had written were grocery lists, checks
and an occasional note on a greeting card.
Who had time to be creative! I
was a single parent raising four kids, sometimes working three jobs and always
tired. Although, I realize now decades
later, stretching menus, clothing the crew, keeping a home and trying to keep
the wolf away took a hell of lot creativity.
Beyond imagination at times.
I
remarried and had some wonderful years, but after eight month of struggling
with an illness my husband died. Looking
back now, I realize I had been creative again in my care giving, creating
healthy meals, exercise and continually searching for positive re-enforcements. And for awhile, believed we had beat the
inevitable.
Later,
out of loneliness I joined a grief group and learned the strength and health of
journaling. I was on to something! I wrote volumes using yellow legal tablets
and a blue Pilot pen. I felt close to
God and his workings and started writing spiritual poems. Then I saw an ad for “The Center for
Developing Writers” at the Hennepin Technical
College
That
first night I read my poems and she gave me the encouragement I needed. After a while, I thought I’d try my hand at
some contemporary prose, and remember the time I read a piece in class that
ended with the f-word, as Maureen gasped at my reversal of genre. Then urged me on with a twinkle in her
eye.
Writing
does not come easy for me, I graduated
in the fifties and what I did learn back then, seems to have been washed away
with time. But I enjoy it as it has
opened up a new world for me, although sometimes I can just spend hours looking
out a window and daydreaming. I have to
feel settled and have things in place. I
need my house in order, and my teeth brushed.
I can write my “tales of woe“ and sometimes even get answers. I can write down my plans and elaborate to my
hearts content. Sometimes, I have to
smile at my greatness. I can cover pages
with nothing but chatter. But the great
thing is, its mine!
I
have written fifteen short stories using bits and pieces of my life, people
I’ve met, places I’ve been to, and of course embellishing. I’ve bravely taken on the challenge of
starting a novel using a character I’ve created called Lindy Lewis. I’ve been published five times, but alas
haven’t made much money, but the largeness of seeing my name in print is
certainly a ego-boaster. Wow, people
really read my work.
This
summer I sold my house and settled into a condominium and have began to enjoy
life without the struggle of mowing grass, shoveling snow and trying to keep up
with the endless decay of things. I have
a pond and a little bit of wilderness right in my back yard where ducks swim by
silently with only an occasional squawk of protest. I wonder, what do they think about in their
duck-world. I’m told writers are sometimes
weird.
I
thank the wonderful friends I’ve made, and appreciate their support. Their encouragement to send out my work for
publication. So like the ducks in my
pond, I’ll glide along serenely and only squawk when the rejections come too
fast, or too often.
Lyn Miller Lacoursiere
(Written some years ago)
