Being myself

I am a writer. I composed my first story when I was four years old. Able to read better than I could print, I cut words from my mother’s magazines and pasted them to red construction paper with mucilage that oozed from a brown bottle with a rubber tip.

As I grew up I wrote stories, and forlorn poems of adolescent heartbreak. Over the years I’ve kept journals, written epistles, poems, stories, and last year completed a novel I’d worked on for twenty-two years. To me writing is more than a creative outlet, it is an art form, and just as an artist’s pictures should be seen, a musician’s voice heard, and a dancer’s movement witnessed, a writer’s words should be read.

Facebook posts have been a way for me to share my writing, and this blog is the next step to express the creative aspect of my life. It is my honor to share with you my thoughts and perspective on life, culture, travel, and other fancies that emanate from my pen.

Tomorrow I leave on a journey to Calabria, Italy, to fulfill a longtime yearning to visit the birthplaces of my grandparents. There is much cultural and historic splendor to explore in the foot of Italy’s boot. I invite you to share this journey with me.