Here I am again on a Five minute Friday. Joining the group fromhttp://lisajobaker.com/2014/04/five-minute-friday-writer/ writing prompt WRITER. Taking 5 minutes out of my week to do what I wish I would do more-write.
http://lisajobaker.com/2014/04/five-minute-friday-writer/
Writer
I had dreams of being a writer back in my High School days. Ha. My teachers told me I had a gift. Well. Then life took off and I followed and writing was gone. Lost somewhere like dust in a forgotten corner. Yet, every now and then I took out those pages I had gloried in. Now they are yellowed after 35+ years. But I still have them. Tucked away. Those neat and carefully hand written pages. My heart on paper.
I've added to them. Some pages handwritten from the early days of "word processors" when I was afraid to even attempt to turn on that strange thing called a computer. Some safely tucked away in an electronic file on my computer in "my documents." From time to time I go back and read my words. And I wonder, did I really write that? There must be a mistake, it sounds too good. I tuck it back away and go on about my daily life-and wonder-then forget.
Am I a writer? Barely. I mean each day flies by and it's the last thing I think about. There are so many other things to get done. Besides, who would ever want to read what I have written.?? Yet, my own words re-read years later bring me to tears. Maybe it's just me who needs to write. And read. And write. And read. . .
http://lisajobaker.com/2014/04/five-minute-friday-writer/
Writer
I had dreams of being a writer back in my High School days. Ha. My teachers told me I had a gift. Well. Then life took off and I followed and writing was gone. Lost somewhere like dust in a forgotten corner. Yet, every now and then I took out those pages I had gloried in. Now they are yellowed after 35+ years. But I still have them. Tucked away. Those neat and carefully hand written pages. My heart on paper.
I've added to them. Some pages handwritten from the early days of "word processors" when I was afraid to even attempt to turn on that strange thing called a computer. Some safely tucked away in an electronic file on my computer in "my documents." From time to time I go back and read my words. And I wonder, did I really write that? There must be a mistake, it sounds too good. I tuck it back away and go on about my daily life-and wonder-then forget.
Am I a writer? Barely. I mean each day flies by and it's the last thing I think about. There are so many other things to get done. Besides, who would ever want to read what I have written.?? Yet, my own words re-read years later bring me to tears. Maybe it's just me who needs to write. And read. And write. And read. . .
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