My seventh grade teacher once said to the class, "We only have one student in our English Class who will have her work appear in the Oneida Arrow." His words weren't those of excitement - my seat was near the door - his pets, near his desk. You see, my uncle fired him from a summer job. His statement remained with me as life has since childhood, and I have maintained a firm hold on lasting memories. Those of childhood, since the bars of a crib became one of my favorite short stories - published in several journals both here and abroad.
Sounds, sights, and people, persist as indestructible structures of my life. Hours spent talking with my own Grandmother, who lived upstairs in a two family house, about her life, gave me a reason to write a memoir (in progress) about a woman, an immigrant - strong - fighting to raise three sons without a father, going to court and battling for her family, only to have her late husband's (my grandfather's) best friend killed before the last hearing when he would have testified on her behalf.
I learned what life is like on both sides of the fence. I pushed my way into the political arena since I was brought up with my father, who became the Mayor of our city, and became an advocate for the people, and moved forward to interview - one on one - Presidential Candidates, without being famous, but with a reason - a cause - I was fighting for the people.
Throughout these years and during my entire life, I wrote daily, and published in many magazines, journals, and have been interviewed on many occasions. You see, remembering the past and present is important, but writing means focusing on the reader, on their life and what brought them here? The boxes of my writing were labeled, stored, and one day perhaps, found. And that day arrived when I was on Twitter battling Health Care Reform, when I approached the statements of those who still could not see beyond their own party, without seeking out the truth about illness, and those suffering with long term care, mental illness, no insurance, children suffering needlessly. Never giving it a thought, I placed my home page on line, and a publisher happened to read my work, and eight weeks later I had the beginning of my series, "What Brought You Here?" And, at the end of this month my second in the series, "Did You Ever Want To Fly?" should be released. A four part series of life - poetic memoir - oh, but not only mine, but your life too. You see, we feel and hear things in writing that reflect on our life - and my world isn't much different than your world. Sure, bad things happen, but we overcome them, we learn to get past the bad, and spring forward. Life is not a private space where only one faces a predicament but life is a storage bank of many challenges filled with different solutions or surprise endings, making your story unique.
So as I write each and everyday I think about life - perhaps a struggle today becomes an over whelming success tomorrow. How exciting it is to be alive - and remember the present will one day be a flashback for a tomorrow. I have filled journals, diaries, and one notebook after another - and I write poetic memoirs. A librarian recently asked me to make up my mind, is it poetry or memoir? I told her again, "poetic memoir." I knew she was smiling when I heard back, and she excepted the description. You see, we can change things, we can make a difference with our thoughts - words - imagination - and I will continue to do so with short stories, novels, and poetry which flows from me as easily as talking to you, a friend, a lover of words, a stranger in this big wide world. I am a believer that writers should have the opportunity to read their work, no matter the genre' out loud. Hearing the voice of the author brings you closer to what the author feels, hears, and writes on paper. Perhaps this came from my love for public speaking, teaching, and my continued work as an advocate for you. Not knowing "you" would one day be part of my writing stored in boxes and labeled, only to be found.