I am me.
Once upon a time, I was told that people like me don’t write. If we do write, we certainly don’t get published. And if we get published, we certainly don’t make any money at it.
For many years I played the pre-recorded message in my mind and listened to it carefully and shelved the dreams.
When I waited tables and had two wonderful women invite me to a writer’s circle.
When I was told by my freshman college English professor (thank you Mister Lutz) that I needed to give up whatever major I was persuing and become a writer.
When I was told that a writer would never be able to gainfully support a family (this was reinforcing the message, not my heart)
I listened. And I shelved the dream.
Occasionally I would dust off the shelves. I would take down my dream and hold it close to my heart. I would smell the smells of my dream, taste the bitter sweetness, almost feel the colors as they swirled around my brain. Then I put it back on the shelf and went on with my financially more practical life.
But it was always there.
Finally… decades later… I’m starting to listen. And this is where I will make my first tentative steps into my dream world.
The world where people like me live their dreams and take the road less traveled through the woods that are slowly filling up with snow.