Sweet Dependency

My blogging platform supports relationships, self-help, and everyday incidents we chuckle over afterwards. Combining these with my writing process enlightened me.

Anyone in the writing communities I’m connected with describe me as a critique guru. I preach how valuable my experiences have been with allowing (and at times begging) peers to give me honest feedback on written work. I’ve even submitted short blog posts to a writing partner before airing it to the blogosphere.

Yes. I’m insecure about my writing. Afraid to offend, but mostly of making myself look stupid. No one wants to slip on a faux pas, especially when your sister might add it to her list of nay-nah, nay-nah taunts.

I’ve stopped blaming difficulty with grammar, punctuation and sentence structure on my inept education and possible learning disability. I can read: Empowerment enough to gain what’s lacking.

As an introvert, I gather strength from solitude. But I'm dependent on family and friends to keep me focused when I travel too deep into Dawndom. Likewise with writing.

Middle-age hit me in the face with a life clarification mirror, cracking my pride. I could never have raised my children, live healthy or write a book, without help.

Dependency is freedom to write confidently. I don’t have to get it right the first, or second, time. With assistance from reading and writer friends, I can get darn close. Enough to get globally published before really understanding what I was doing.

The acknowledgement section in books affirms this dependence. The more popular a book, the longer its list runs. BAM. Not only the publisher, editor and agent are noted, but also family, writing and critique partners, beta readers, and those who aided in research and inspiration. My name on acknowledgement lists circles back to me in sweet co-dependency.

It takes a village? It took multiple communities to raise this writer. And I still refuse to play the Blame Game. No matter how much assistance I receive, hard work and rejection is shared by all artists, including those manipulating words, white space and punctuation on a paper-thin canvas.

Being flawed, like a good novel character, I reach beyond aloneness. To be happy and productive, I incorporate others in improving myself, as well as my writing. 

 

Juliette Writers' Group Meeting

This was great. Click here for updated meeting.

June 20th @ 7:30pm

Barnes & Nobles

1311 Nixon Dr.

Moorestown, NJ 08057

Joined published writer Dawn Byrne as I lead this vested group of writers in discussing: Finding Sources of Inspiration.

All welcome

Uncle John Introduced Aunt Erma

Uncle John (not my uncle) was a finer grandfather than my biological ones. A close friend to Grandma, Uncle John sat quietly in a corner at family celebrations and get-togethers, always clean shaven, dressed as an informal businessman.

He collected junk throughout the streets of Philadelphia at 4am, pushing a hand-rigged cart in which he piled discarded scraps. Afterwards, at his home, he stripped metals to separate them from other materials before recycling was a household word. Uncle John easily identified any type of metal my siblings and I waved in front of him. So resourceful and hardworking, he hid from most people that he never learned to read.

All five of us kids loved his visits. He always deposited Philly soft pretzels and donuts onto our dining room table. Sometimes, he’d bring small toys for us, and household goods for Mom. But the best things were treasures he found while junking: costume jewelry; broken tools, which he restored; a bolt of material; statuary.

His most valuable trash pick, was a wilted paperback of Erma Bombeck’s book “Motherhood: The World’s Second Oldest Profession.” He couldn’t have known the title or about the author, but Uncle John knew I loved reading. And his timing was perfect. I was a new mother, and never heard of Aunt Erma’s amazing humor writing. From that book, I gained emotional sustenance as a poor mother, by allowing myself to view through humor, situations I was powerless to change. My child-less, non-grandfather, who couldn’t read, introduced me to a writing legend who still inspires today. Reading that first Bombeckian book triggered me to read others. I’m still a fan.

Uncle John’s life is historic. He came to America as a baby, and was adopted by a Jewish family from Germany named Simon. Uncle John never knew his original last name because he couldn’t read his birth certificate. I’m happy Uncle John owned a portrait of himself as a child. Surely, his adoptive parents had it done. I cherish it, and his “hut” he wore to visit us. It sits above my head, on a bookcase, as I type this. Thank you, dear Uncle John, for your interesting life and legacy of love beyond genetics.

Juliette Writers' Group

This was great. Click here for updated meeting.



Join published writer Dawn Byrne as I lead this informative group

May 16th @ 7:30pm

Barnes & Nobles

1311 Nixon Dr.

Moorestown, NJ

Topic for discussion?

Journal Writing/Free Writing

All Welcome