From the time I was a little girl, I can remember creating stories within my head.  Sometimes those stories were a means of escape, creating a different world in which to live in.  Those stories within me helped me to sort things out, hope, and understand myself and others.

In high school, I found my English classes a place where poetry took form within me and on paper.  Remnants of those early writings linger still.  In college, at the age of thirty-two, I found myself with a heart, heavy with burdens, to carry and release.  My English professor became the one who assigned me an essay or story to write and would get a heart pouring of a lifetime.  I do laugh when I remember the day he called me into his office, one of my most recent papers in his hands.  I was to have written a comparitive essay.  My efforts were to do that, but became a release of an event in my life, the loss of a child.  He asked me,  "How do I give this a grade?  This is very well written, as a matter a fact written much better than most, but I do have to ask, how does it meet the requirements of the paper?"  When I told him it was my attempt at comparing taking home a healthy baby and going home without a baby, my comparison was made.  He and I did talk a bit more and he reassured me the writing I was turning in showed a potential.  He did give me a B+ on that assignment. Ha. It was a grade  that I took cheerfully, for on that day,  I had someone recognize the stories within me.  He did ask to keep another paper I wrote to use in future classes as a model for other students. 

Time passed and life continued.  About six years ago, I hit another rough spot, a divorce.  After the spiraling of events that took place after that, I found myself online with a group of people who I began writing with.  It all started out as haiku responses to one another, but those three syllabic lines led me to so much more. I have notebooks filled with poetry and writings.  I have stories within me that are crying to be written.  

 A door that I had been attempting to open for years has been  thrown open.  I now have so much to write, I don't even know where to start at times.  I have learned though to just write and not question what to write.  The mind seems to take over once started.  Much like this biography is being written now.  I have put off entering anything here simply because I wasn't sure what to include, it is writing itself.