Start From the Beginning

A light went on today. In my head and in my heart. I have the gift of gab, of being able to say what needs to be said. My thoughts can be humorous, inventive, boring, silly, and even sad, but more importantly my thoughts are real and they're my own. I've decided I can no longer make excuses for not getting started with my dream, my dream of becoming a professional writer. At 31, life isn't getting any shorter or easier, and there are still some things I want to accomplish before my time is up. We all go through life with the idea that there will be another time, later on, to do those things we say we want and need to do. What exactly does that mean? When exactly is "later on"? What's so wrong with right now? What's wrong with today?

Today I spoke with a true friend. Someone who reminds me of all that is good in my life and all that I've been blessed with. They reminded me of this gift I carry with me every where I go, and how I need to share it with the world. While the "world" might sound like a bit much, it was a valid conversation and she made her point. We spend so much time focusing on what it is we don't have, that it becomes very easy to forget what it is we DO have; and right now, I have much. Driving home from work, I realized that those people that matter most in my life have been encouraging me to do this for so long; but no one can make someone do something, they have to want to do it for themselves. In talking with my friend today, and talking about writing and sharing my stories and daily adventures, the ideas began to flow. For now, for my beginning, it's important for you to know when this dream became a reality for me. My URL says it all...but I will explain.

I began my college experience at Our Lady of the Lake University here in San Antonio, TX. I always dreamed of going AWAY for school, with my parents driving me to some other city or state, helping me unload my things and leaving me alone; to face the world on my own. For a small town girl, it made for an ideal story, BUT, being who I am, procrastination set in and I was fortunate to get into the Lake when I did. It would turn out to be the best procrastination decision I would ever make.

After several attempts at various majors, I finally found my comfort in the Communications department. Part of my degree required me to minor in English and while I wasn't entirely sold on the idea of additional reading and writing, I knew it would be ok. One class in particular was a Creative Writing class I took one fall semester on Wednesday nights with my cousin Rosanne. Our professor was quite eccentric in her own quirky way, but she made our class that much more enjoyable. Because we only met once a week, she was not a follower of "cancelling" class as many of her fellow colleagues were. One fateful Wednesday, she arrived to class with a severe case of bronchitis; and while we all sat there, contemplating her next move, she stood up, walked over to the dry erase board and wrote a phrase on the board..."in the afternoon of cornbread". In what little voice she had she said, "Your assignment for today is to write a poem using this phrase. It can be part of your title, but it has to be included in the body of your poem. You may begin." With that, she sat back down, opened her latest literature adventure, picked up her cup of tea and never looked up again. We all sat there. Then, one by one, we each turned to our computers and began to work. I, personally, hate writing poems. I can write essays, short stories, journal entries, and opinion papers all day long; but poems? Yeah, not so much, but I had to.

I spent the next 30 minutes typing. I didn't stop. It was like someone turned on a faucet of words and ideas and was letting it run through my head. It was such an awesome experience. When I finally stopped typing, I went back, re-read it, changed one word and hit print. My cousin, who was sitting next to me, asked me, "You're done already?" To which I replied, "Yes. She may not like it; it doesn't rhyme; but I'm tired and I just want to get it over with. I hate writing poems." She graded our papers that very night (FYI - class was from 6:30-9:20) and it didn't take her long to read a few poems and give her feedback.

When she handed me my paper back, she looked at me and simply smiled. I looked down at what she handed me and read her three perfectly written words, "I love this." Below is what I submitted to her:

In the afternoon of cornbread,
I see my grandmother standing over a hot stove,
Tasting her spicy caldo.

In the afternoon of cornbread,
I hear grasshoppers chirping through the fields,
Making their way to their homes.

In the afternoon of cornbread,
I feel water on my back as I backstroke in the lake,
Tanning my already burned body.

In the afternoon of cornbread,
I taste salty sweat on the necks of my nieces,
Coming in after a day in the sun.

In the afternoon of cornbread,
I smell gasoline and diesel of a lawnmower,
Eating its way across our yard.

Summer days flood my memory,
Reminding me of my family,
In the afternoon of cornbread.

While I may change a few of the images and ideas NOW, this is where my creativity was then; but it was the first time I truly realized I had a gift. Someone, who knew nothing about me, looked at something I wrote and loved it. I was a writer. A vessel of ideas, memories, imagination and dreams. This blog is a beginning for me; a start to what I can only hope will help me reach my goals. I hope that my thoughts and stories to come will bring a sense of comfort, and even entertainment, to those who read it. It's funny, all I needed to get started was just a little bit of cornbread and a dream.

Till next time...