I was born April 3, 1968. The day before MLK Jr. was assassinated. The day before civil rights as we know it changed forever. Daddy was a MI State Trooper. A Boy in Blue. He strapped on a gun and went to work in the D after that dreadful day. He tried to establish order to the chaos. He and the other men that swore to serve and protect. Another baby that was to be my mother and father’s slipped away. Mom was devastated, but God had a plan. That plan was me. The mistake of my conception and birth was to fill a void in the life of Patty and Don. It was to fulfill a dream. It was my beginning.
After almost 45 years on this planet I have figured out why I was born. The realization came on January 4, 2012. I am here because I am a writer. I didn’t figure it out on my own. A dear friend pointed it out. Most days I still don’t believe it. This used to be a journal. It’s so much more than that now. The words, stories, pictures, music, poetry, inspiration, everything pour out of me. To finally realize why I was born leaves me in awe. I still have so much to learn. I want to feel everything and write it all.
There’s a book I need to write. A tragic one. About love between a poet and an American girl studying abroad. Drug addiction and rock bottom. Does she leave? Does she stay? Does he die? Does she? I promise it won’t be schmaltzy. I’m a romantic and I like to write erotica, but I HATE schmaltz. I want to keep writing my blog, but I have to get the book out. I’ll keep doing Friday Fictioneers. If I find a photo that rocks my world I’ll bring it to life. I can’t post every day and write a book though.
Now where did I put my notebook and pen? It’s time to get to steppin’.
Love and hugs from a silly Sparkly Girl.