“I didn’t know you were into writing.”
A statement made by my father not 5 minutes ago.
Three things:
1. I find his statement incredibly disheartening and sad. How could he not know? My entire life has been about writing. Okay, thats a bit of a hyperbole, but still, I feel like the man should know. Writing is just what I do. I spend so much of my free time with words, be it my own or or someone else’s. I got my degree in English. I’ve written poems, short stories, beautiful nonfiction pieces. And he’s seen them. I’m not angry though (see #2).
2. It’s not his fault. One one hand, I understand my feelings that as a writer, I should exude writing from every orifice of my being. You should be able to smell it on me. You should be able to look at me after one conversation and know without a doubt: that girl is wordy and nerdy. On the other hand though, how could he know what I choose not to tell him? I don’t walk around advertising my writing. I never print off a fresh piece and ask for their opinions. New summer goal: let my family in a little more. I should share the things I love most with the people I love the most. Much easier said than done, but I’ll work on it. There is always room to work on it.
3. I find it funny that I’ve been procrastinating writing on this blog for weeks now. Waiting for the perfect mood, the perfect moment, the perfect post. My draft section is getting out of hand. I find it even funnier that it took someone nearly denouncing my love for writing for me to get back to it. My dad’s words sent shrills of urgency down my arms to the point where I didn’t even wait for him to walk away before I began burning up the keyboard with my thoughts. I feel like someone insulted my child and I have to leap to her defense. Nobody talks about my baby that way!
As I went to wrap up this post I had a moment of paranoia: What if daddy knew that my blog needed a jump and offered his words to jolt me into action because he knows me so well. Then I realized that that is exactly what happened. Except, this wasn’t my earthly father’s doing. This is God at work. Praise and glory be to my Father for getting me going again.
Moral of the story: God is always busy. Share yourself with people. Writing is my passion. If you don’t know, now you know.
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