The Moment The Writing Died

The Moment The Writing Died

I remember it as clearly as yesterday...and ohhh how painful it was. Embarrassment, shame, dis-illusioned, hurt, angry....all those words filled my soul as I threw the notebook with all my words across the room. I was done..finished...!

I had joined an on-line writing group..diligent about honing my skills as a writer. In the midst of a novel, I poured every day into that magical dream of being a writer. As part of this group it was a requirement to critique other's work..and I critiqued with gentleness and love. Exactly what I thought others would do...until I encountered the MAN. "Your novel reads like an uneducated 8th grader wrote it! Perhaps rather than write..you need to go back to school and learn the basic principles of English!' he wrote as he sliced and diced at my punctuation usage, my sentence structure and my dream. Oh what a heart piercing moment.

So, injured, bloody and ravaged, I killed the best friend I had ever had...my muse...my writing...my souls song. I got a job...I got busy...I got distracted...anything to keep me from going into that injured and bloody space....

But dreams die hard....and I realized, who am I with out my pen, my notebook, my purpose? Writing is as much a part of who I am as the children I gave birth to...as much as the air I breathe....so I write...I write for purpose, for passion, for the sweet music of my soul's song.