Calling Out Into the Void

Dear Reader (if you exist),

I miss my dad, who looked at my every childish scrawling, forehead furrowed and glasses at the tip of his nose, as though "my books" were worthy of being read, analyzed, and critiqued. More than ten years have passed since he died, and in that time, writing has been like calling out into a void.

While my dad sat at his table writing his movie scripts, I sat in the corner of the same room doodling all over his books, magazines, and telephone directories. At two, I hadn't learned to write. But when I did learn to write eventually, it was all I wanted to do. I wrote prolifically. I filled notebooks with stories and poems. I sent some of the poems and stories out and got them published. My dad made sure all his friends knew and soon they were all calling me Little Miss Poet! It made me so proud.

Today I find that I miss having my dad by my side to give my writing a once-over before I send it out for publishing. I fear showing my writing to anyone. As a result, my writing stutters and threatens to stop.

So before it's too late, I want to write with gusto again. Starting today (October 22), I am going to make myself write something every day. By the end of this year (that's about seventy days from now), I want to be able to say that I published something--even if it's just a tiny little article in some fairly known magazine!


And that's why I've begun this little project. I hope I receive encouragement from you, dear reader. And oh, it's only fair that I tell you that  I am using a pseudonym because I need this mask right now--until I learn to conquer my fear.


With love,

Ann