Hello there! Happy Writemas! The end of the year is coming faster than I imagined. At what point of my life did the train move faster without my notice? It seems like yesterday that the year was beginning. Now, I look back at what I have accomplished with my writing and feel like kicking myself. Could I have done more? Could I have pushed through mourning to do more?
What I do know is that two days ago I submitted two of my newest poems to a literary magazine. The titles are Strong and Walnut Pie. Both of them I enjoyed writing. Behind them, I have a whole folder of poems that at some will become my next collection - Mountain Momma.
What a weird name for a poetry book huh? Well, my mother's CB handle was Mountain Momma. She fit the nickname to a T. She acted like a mother to everyone she met. You could probably talk to anyone of the people I went to school with and hear that they thought of her as a mom. In this next collection, I am also going to include some of the poetry my mother wrote. I didn't find it until after her death. It made me realize that, like her, I am in tune with my heart and soul.
I know that mourning takes it's own time. I cannot control it, but I feel able to move on through my writing. I am hoping that my mother's memory will remain through my words.
What I do know is that two days ago I submitted two of my newest poems to a literary magazine. The titles are Strong and Walnut Pie. Both of them I enjoyed writing. Behind them, I have a whole folder of poems that at some will become my next collection - Mountain Momma.
What a weird name for a poetry book huh? Well, my mother's CB handle was Mountain Momma. She fit the nickname to a T. She acted like a mother to everyone she met. You could probably talk to anyone of the people I went to school with and hear that they thought of her as a mom. In this next collection, I am also going to include some of the poetry my mother wrote. I didn't find it until after her death. It made me realize that, like her, I am in tune with my heart and soul.
I know that mourning takes it's own time. I cannot control it, but I feel able to move on through my writing. I am hoping that my mother's memory will remain through my words.
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