Stringing Beads

I’m a writer. I have been most of my life, at least since I learned such a creature existed. That identification has been both a burden as I struggled to write, and a joy as I put substance to imagined lives.

The problem is I’ve found a lot of distractions along the way. Almost four books finished, many more half way, and I’m still unpublished.

Am I afraid to succeed? Maybe, but I’ve come to see that my fear of failure runs deeper still.

Brenda Ueland wrote, I learned that you should feel when writing, not like Lord Byron on a mountain top, but like child stringing beads in kindergarten – happy, absorbed and quietly putting one bead on after another.”

One bead–one word, one page, one chapter after another. Eventually a book is born.

It’s a strong image. And so, in this new home, I have re-named my fledgling blog “Stringing Beads.” A constant reminder to me of how to write. Word by word, bead by bead.

So, it’s back to the book.