"The Author in me."
This story begins on a warm inviting January day many years ago, like thirty years ago.
Each January I have put pen to paper or fingers to a keyboard and tapped out a very short story in the hope of one day actually having the time or maybe the commitment or courage to create a whole story. Stories flowed in and out of my thoughts many times after that first January. Being a mother completed me, but I had always known that there was something more I needed to do with my life. Something I could leave behind for the following generations. A piece of me to say that I was here, I was real, I actually lived. Each January passed as the last one did, and my stories became a little longer when writing them down. Born dyslexic and an entertaining stutterer I had no faith in my ability to share even one story.
Until another January rolled my way my purpose came together. I sat one starlit night, all alone, on my single bed while attending a mandala retreat with Lama Tender in Melbourne, Australia. A ray of moonlight danced on my fingers while a comforting breeze escaped the night sky tiptoeing through my window. I became aware of myself, my life, and maybe my purpose. That moment changed me for the better, it was all I needed to feel great joy. My fingers were poised to tap at my laptop, to share my experiences of the day and check emails but instead, I just sat in that precious moment of realization. I felt a need to simplify my life and I knew I was ready to do just that and commit to tapping out my ideas, thoughts, and maybe one fun fantastical story. My concern was not how or why I just knew that this could be done. I was going to do something that pleased me. This brought elation to all my sensors.
I came home and downsized drastically. Sold the family home and moved into a wee caravan, so I could commit to my purpose. Luckily my husband loves me and came along for an adventure. The normal world was behind us now as I committed to sharing my thoughts in words. I tapped many ideas out, produced stories, then launched them into many delightful children’s books. I walked an author's life. I thought I was committing to my destiny for this lifetime but was I? Had I done just that with these wee children's books?
Lifting my head out of my author's space I discovered that the world had passed me by. I had learned much which includes many disappointments, realizations about myself, and some joys in that same breath. I still achieved my aim of leaving small parts of me behind for the next generation and definitely shared many vulnerabilities. Writing has supported my growth in so many ways but not always my bank account.
In conclusion, I feel I am the Author of my life, the Author is within me and within us all. My stories are mine but I share them with you. I am no longer contented with sitting on the top shelf gathering a lifetime of dust and cobwebs. I have a need to create memories. I still enjoy creating wee books with the support of some beautiful editors I call friends, but what is next as my cup is not quite full yet!
Thank you for reading my wee bundle of words.