Thankfully I’ve been exposed to just enough in my life to keep my sanity; and that exposure also gave way to my passion for writing. As a kid I was always writing. When others would draw, dance, or play on the swings, I wrote poetry and short stories. I am a born thinker and often thought I knew it all, but fortunately I quickly learned that I didn’t know as much as I thought. Philadelphia was a wonderful place for me to grow up and to live, because I’ve seen things and been in situations that have made me extremely grateful for life, family, and when available, great friends.

 

I take comfort in being able to write down how I’m feeling. When I’m in love or angry, I do the curse out or love expression much better with a pen. I get this gift from my mother, who often wrote you a letter when you excelled in school, accomplished your goals, or when she was just fed up with you. When I reread her letters I always think, “Where would I be without a pen and paper?”

 

Writing is the one thing I do and get complete satisfaction from. Even with the blemishes of my grammar, or when I think some sentences just don’t fit in certain paragraphs; I always end up seeing my writings as the imperfect perfections. I love my work because I did it and I know what it’s like to have a dreamed deferred. It’s a nightmare that keeps revisiting you, or like a drama that will only end badly.

So I stay thankful and positive about creations that begin in my head and end exactly where they belong; on paper, in black and white, being read by others!

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