An example of a poetry beginning that I remember:
by Glynis Latham Belec
Her kisses are squashy
Her lipstick is red
Her perfume is strong
Her hugs I do dread.
She pinches my cheeks
And says that I’m cute
And she always reminds me
To eat all my fruit. . .
(There’s more. I can’t remember it. Poor Aunt Martha was scared by Frederick the mouse and such, if I remember correctly!)
|Sometimes I like being a pack-rat. Here is an |
old report card of mine from (yikes!) 1967
In school I always did well in English. The words on my report card when I was ten years old encouraged me aplenty to do something with composition. So I did. I wrote little things in my own diaries and in my jotters. I wrote short stories and plays in my mind. No one would know about them or see them except me and God. I was pretty shy about who I would show my writing to and at the time I sure didn’t have much confidence in my efforts.
I would absorb the classics, especially Black Beauty, Beautiful Joe, Little Women and more. Mom and Dad had bought us (my two sisters, my brother and I) subscriptions to a weekly comic. Mine was called DIANA. Every Christmas our parents would buy us the Annuals for the magazines. They were all prettily packaged under the Christmas tree. I could hardly wait to open and read my annual. It was like a very thick DIANA magazine with a hard cover. I loved that yearly gift and I am wishing now that I never got rid of my collection.
I always did a decent job in school with my writing and when I went into nursing school years later, I had to write an essay on safety. I got an A and the prof told me that I had a knack for the written word. No one had quite said it in those terms. I remembered that and when I had an opportunity to enter a writing contest many years, a husband and two children later and won first prize, something started to stir in my soul.
In 1986 I met Jesus face to face. Shortly after that, I
By no means have I hit the big times in my writing
career. Although I still feel like success is a state of mind and not the thickness of the wallet. (Mind you a trial run of a thick wallet because of my writing would be something worth considering. I digress).
Just like so many of my beautiful writer friends, though, I keep slogging and praying and giving thanks for the open doors (and sometimes the closed ones). I long to write full time, but, the time isn’t quite right for that.
Jesus continues to open my eyes and continues to be the motivation for my passion. For that I am so very grateful.
My heart is stirred by a noble theme as I recite my verses for the king; my tongue is the pen of a skillful writer. NIV Psalm 45:1