Thank you! Gracias! Merci! Grazie! Danke!
It's amazing, humbling and scary to see my words in a different space. Below is a small excerpt of the piece I wrote.
My mother’s family is loud. Large. Ethnic. Full of smart, opinionated women. And the club house sign says “Introverts not allowed.”
I took refuge in books.
I devoured them. Any kind. All kinds. And if books were not available, any written word would do. Perfume bottles. Cereal boxes. I read everything. But I wasn’t a writer. Writers never wrote less than perfectly or scribbled out lines. Writers also always had a clear idea on where a story would go.
Journals seemed too lovely to be desecrated by my barely legible handwriting; then, paper and typewriter ribbons were resources not to be wasted; and finally computers lacked the personal feel of a journal. There was always a reason to keep my inner voice unheard, even by me.
To read the full piece, please click over to The Writing Whisperer's blog.
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