For as long as I can remember I believed myself to be a writer. It was, has been, and is what I am most passionate about. I believe the power of one’s voice and think that everyone is capable of writing something great. Everyone has a unique story to share with the world or simply a story to share with one other person. However, there are very few people who would sit down and spill their guts out on to a piece of paper and feel like it is worth something. I feel that everyone’s story holds merit and value even if its just for them; to hold on to.
When I was younger and people used to ask me what I wanted to be I would always answer a writer or an author. I can’t think of a time that I ever answered anything else. Today, I can say I am a published author but I could also say that years ago when I published a poem about my Grandfather and in the last 12 years a magazine article about “my husband and being a dad”. There were times since high school that I grew a part from my pen and notebook but I have always found my way back to what I am most passionate about.
I left my job of seven years last November and while focusing all my energy on my children and their education, I did start to get a few moments to myself and I found my pen and paper again. I found my voice. I also found my first Apple computer which I love dearly. It holds all of my words, my secrets, my contradictions, my dreams.
I started writing everyday for hours at a time. I changed my surroundings often and frequently changed perspectives in nature to gain a different focal point. There was a lot of journaling and free writing in the beginning, hours of sitting in my nook with the tiny fireplace I got for Christmas. It created a wonderful ambiance in my nook. Everything that was and is me is inside this small space.
I would say that I frequently suffer from insomnia which if I get up and walk around, drink a glass of milk, or write a bit; I can generally get myself back to sleep within an hour or two. However, this does not work all the time.
Since, I had started writing regularly my insomnia grew more frequent and I could not get back to sleep so waking up at midnight meant I would be up until morning and it was getting very annoying. This became a new standard in my life which I didn’t like because if you know me, you would know I need my sleep.
On a Monday night in January, I woke up and remembered my dream I had just had about my family on the farm. I laid in bed for an hour tossing and turning and I ran through my dream over and over in my mind. After about an hour, I got up turned the lights on low, I tore some sheets of paper out of a journal I kept and started writing. I couldn’t get the words out fast enough. I wrote sentence after sentence and could not slow down. It was as if the words were spraying out the end of my pen like spray paint. I can say it wasn’t my best writing or the neatest but it was the story of Grandpa’s Orchard. Yes, I did some editing and typed it all into a my computer the next day but it was my dream in its entirety. After four hours of writing, my hand ached and I became very tired, I feel asleep on the couch and when I woke in a few hours, I knew this was the story I was going to publish! Grandpa’s Orchard all started in a dream.