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I started to write stories when I was seven. I would dress up my cat, put her in a sunny place and read to her. Later I wrote music and lyrics that gave invitation to show my emotions in an acceptable way. Words that I would have liked to shout, I immersed between notes and phrases of melodic rhythm. Later in Sunday school, choir and women’s ministries, I wrote skits and poems to involve people to participate in the time. Then I began writing family stories about men and women in past generations for our family history. When I later went back to school to answer God’s call to ordained ministry, I found myself immersed in many different kinds of writing assignments.
As I reflect back, I remember many times when I was tempted to put my work aside, talking myself out of its merit and value. Yet, the adventure of creating, contributing and making a difference always won out. And in that, I somehow found a sense of peace and accomplishment.
I too can look at a pile of unfinished ‘stuff’, rejection slips and files of ideas for further development. This is not failure. If anything, it is energy waiting to happen. It is black and white proof that I continue to open the gift of writing that God has given to me. I admit, some days are slower than other days. There are times I grow impatient with myself and want to clean up, finish up and move on. It is then I pause to remember all of this is a journey. Maybe I just need to change my walking shoes.
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Aggie's Storms(2007)Agnes Macphail's story of growing up to become the first woman elected to Canadian Parliament
2 comments:
Hello Donna,
I find myself relating to several aspects of your journey through life and in writing.
You are much further on in the latter pursuit; however, so many points you make resonate with me.
Thank you for this reminder that as writers we are on a journey.
Peter.
Hi Donna,
I love your encouraging comments about what we have not done. That helps me see there are still possibilities. Thanks for this post.
Blessings,
Eleanor
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