My past DOES define me.

I hear the buzz phrase, “Your past does not define you.” Even I thought this sounded like a good mantra. At first. I might have even said it a few times. But, my past DOES define me. For better or worse.

Running from your past is like that old saying, “Going nowhere in a hurry.” You can’t forward your future until you address the past.

I grew up poor. Near a small town, in the country on 20 acres, graduated from a class of 65 people.

Maybe not poor. Maybe just so far in debt that I had to choose between difficult things. And, I didn’t wear name brand clothes. My mom made most of my clothes by hand. That, at least, put me in a different category.

Other category pushers:
My father was emotionally and physically (infrequently) abusive. I was overweight (of course). Often teased. Often at the bottom of some chaotic, emotional barrel of feelings. Struggling to have a voice of any kind in a farm community full of rednecks and intellectual infants. I was (am) a girl/woman (not always a plus).

These things define me. They are my etymological birth. The source of all my words. I can write today because of what happened or didn’t happen in the past. I thank God for my past.

My whole youth can be summed up as the jump ball for the tip off of my adulthood/writing career. A frantic scrambling to find my voice in the elbows and sweaty armpits of rural America.

Now, I am free-throwing and making it swish from the top of the key. Thank God I had to scramble.


I lost my voice, the strength of it anyway, a coupla years ago when I had my thyroid removed. They cut through muscles and nerves to get through to the organ. It can effect your vocal cords. I was hoarse and genteel for months. Totally unlike me.

From a young age, I have been identified as the loud laugher, talker, whiner, live-r. When others tittered, I guffawed. When others whispered, I announced. When others went about their feelings in a shy, reserved way, I emoted all over the place.

So. To be made relatively mute for months on end? THAT was a struggle.

I joined a local community theatre production, even when my voice wasn’t fully healed, to exercise the shit out of said vocal cords. I struggled again, this time for my literal voice.

I honestly thought my voice was ruined. I had no volume and no ability to inflect. But it came. My voice emerged. I rebuilt my annoying, distinctive, loud, full-flavored signature.

But that’s what I was doing all those years ago. Fighting for air, time, attention, my voice. I certainly found it by exercising my mind. Flexing my writing muscles. Clearing my thoughts. Coughing up all the bad stuff to get to the sweet, well-trained music of good writing.

If you met me in person, you might think, she’s pretty tame, dull, quiet, shy. But that’s just the surface. That’s just the public wall that’s been graffiti’d by others. There’s a garden behind those gates. A well-tended garden kept by me. Plunking away at the keyboard, digging out rows, mining for richness, turning up the past. Seeds of words flowering into thoughts, emotions and ideas–volumes of deep-rooted life. This is my courtyard. The sign says WELCOME.

You have to push past that gate. Be patient enough to know me.

Welcome to my past. It defines me. All that you read here is real, honest, beautiful. Though some starts out as dirt, hurt and manure.

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Meine Lieblingsschriftsteller, Jawohl!

I am honored to be nominated for the Liebster Award by 2B or Not 2Bsuper cool beautiful writer lady with chops and skills.

The rules of the Liebster Award are as follows:

1) Acknowledge the blog who nominated you for this award.
2) Answer 11 questions the blogger gave you.
3) Give 11 random facts about yourself.
4) Nominate 11 blogs.
5) Notify them.
6) Give them 11 questions to answer.

The following are questions 2B asked me in her nomination:

  • What made you start blogging? How long ago did you start? I couldn’t stop posting crazy-long status updates on Facebook, so I thought, “Better start a blog.” Plus, my friend did and I got jealous. LOL I started about 1 1/2 years ago-Jan. 2016?
  • If you could visit any country in the world, which would you visit and why? I would like to visit India, Africa and Australia/New Zealand. I would like to help anywhere in the world people are in need. Also, Australia/NZ just looks cool. I’d go anywhere.
  • What is your favorite animal? Norwich Terrier, dog, horse
  • Favorite candy? Steak LOL Kidding! Almond Joy (I know. Ew. I’m old. You’ll understand when you’re 40.)
  • Do you prefer digital or physical books? Paper.
  • What is the biggest problem you encounter while writing? Thinking up the words. LOL No. Spelling.
  • What color are your eyes? Gray.
  • Recount a brief childhood story. What happened? Abuse. Lots of stuff. 🙂 Seriously tho–I fell off my bike one day. My chain flew off my rickety old jalopy and I busted up my knees and shins. Blood poured down my legs. Road burn for days down my entire shin. One big scab. My mom hosed me off when I got home because there was that much blood. I lived. Barely.
  • What type of music do you like to listen to? Coldplay, 21 Pilots, Gorillaz
  • Do you collect anything? If so, what is it? Shells! Memories.
  • Where do you see yourself in five years? Well-known writer?? 😀

I just nominated some people through another award, so. I apologize if it’s rude to not nominate others. Only a few people actually completed the tag. I completed because I think this is fun.

Here’s a few blogs that I read (when I have time) and like:
Pencil Princess
Heaven and Haleigh
Kacey Moe
Buckets On a Barefoot Beach
Zoolon
JJ Cuddles
Riverbed

Ta!

Calliope Calls

Oh, wonderful writers
With your passion and fire.
Oh, winsome word-lovers,
Lay your fingers on the lyre.

Build a song without tune.
Call wild to the moon.

Change the Earth into Sea.
Set sacred Calliope free.

Words can plant an invisible field.
A book can launch a billion minds.
Poems unlock heart-shaped doors.
When the world is lost; a story finds.

Summon the magic for us now.
Flourish of cape and take a bow.

Tip of the hat, toss of a rose
For those who risk all to compose.

Not a soul can imagine
What miracles you bear.
Oh, giver of life,
Creator from air.

Woven words loom done.
Golden threads you have spun.

So think. Reach. Write. Give birth.
Thank you for sharing all of your worth.