Creative is a word I have always used to describe myself. I like to draw, color, paint and do all sorts of crafts. After a recent enlightening event, I wrote a message about what I learned and felt. After sharing it with a dear friend, she said “You are a writer”. To my shock I said, I’m a what”? And then I realized I am a writer of sorts…well maybe.
I am not positive I am necessarily a writer, but for me, I deal with events in some type of creative nature.
When I was in first grade, we watched The Challenger in class. (Yes, that was before time delayed TV). So we watched The Challenger blow up in class. My reaction (that I haven’t acknowledged in over 20 years) was to draw and paint rockets for months…literally. Hmmm, I wonder if my parents have any of those still?
Another example happened than a week after turning 15. My Grandmother (also referenced here) unexpectedly passed away. This was the first time I had really dealt with death. During that time, I wrote a poem about my Grandmother.
I have not found it, but I do remember parts
“They say she is gone, isn’t there something else they could have done?
They say she passed away, I will never forget this day.
Saturday, November 13, 1993″
Maybe I am a writer?