Friday, January 25, 2013

The Wishing Star

"I can write."  It wasn't a sudden epiphany, but rather an emerging realization. I had the ability to put words on paper in such a way that people understood and enjoyed them.  It didn't take long for a dream to emerge: "I want to write a book someday." I had no idea what the book would be about. It didn't matter. I had talent and I wanted to display it. Dreams don't have to be specific.  Novel? Memoir? It didn't matter. I wished upon that star and it kept me warm at night.

Then came college, marriage and the baby carriage. The star still twinkled in the dark regions of my mind, but practical realities, parenting,  and career screamed for attention.  Over the years, many who read my musings would comment, "You should write a book" and the star would wink at me.  Maybe later once I'd learned something about life and gathered enough stories.

Then we moved to Africa.  Life became scary and exciting, and the stories mounted.  People kept saying, "I hope you're writing this down.  It would make a great book."  I was. Writers write, it's what we do.  We record life in journals just in case ...