Just Saying

I feel much like Rudolph lately.  No one is letting me join in the game. My nose may be shiny but does it not serve the same purpose? (ha! If you cut me do I not bleed?) I started this blog a while ago now, I have not been consistent because I thought I was being spiteful!  Hell, if no one is reading it, why should I post!

Yes I was acting like a brat. If you don’t want to play with me then, fine I will not play with you. I will not read your post, and I certainly will not leave a comment. Nope I’m not going to play, I don’t want to! But then I found myself sneaking a peek at my favorite writers pages. Then I thought of great comment to leave, wanted to leave..but I did not! I am a brat. How dare my favorite writers be interesting, how dare they have followers that are just as interesting?

So I am revisiting one of my earlier (complaints) posts! What are comments worth? A single click of the mouse to like a post, a one word comment, or even a subscription would make this little brat stop plotting! But I guess my words are really for my eyes only. So the plot thickens. (Gee! am I really going to be a grandmother?) A comment is worth many things. To me I guess it just boils down to recognition!

I did not and still do not intend this page to be anything other than writing about me being a writing mother. I am a mother/wife who writes. My children give me such great material every day, I figured why not write about that. Why not have a page where I can just be me. I guess, I am the only one who thinks my life is interesting. Then I realized I hold back a little. I do not write everything, just some high lights. After all this is not my diary. So I am going to try to open up a bit more, not diary writing just a little more insight into who I am.

Those few who stumble on this page know I am a wife and mother of three, soon to be grandmother (love…love…love that word)  You also know I am a writer.  Maybe you are tired of reading about my 3 boys, maybe you want a little more about what I write.

I write fiction. Everything I write is drawn from my life.  If I am to be completely honest, everything relates to my children. The stories are pretty much my fears… As a mother I fear everything, every “what if” you can think of; I have thought of worse. Those fears build into essays, articles, short stories and have helped me write 2 novels another almost complete.  I have been compared to a Criminal Mind writer. (the t.v show not an actual criminal)  I can take a fear and make it a reality for my poor characters.

So this brat will continue to want to join in the games, plot and think my spite work is actually working!  My husband, children, family and friends read what I write and give me feed back, so I know my words are not for my eyes only. I hoped to join in the games with other writers to build a platform but hey, I am here still waiting for my turn. That’s just the way this writing stuff goes. Writer’s always write and hope, hope and write. I am no exception. I  am  just a brat. A brat who will eventually get her turn.

I’m just saying…


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