Once there was a girl strong and true who wanted to be a writer when she grew up. She cherished her dream: A famous author, maybe a children’s writer, the world was her oyster.
The time and place where she lived was not for dreamers. This place had just endured hard days of war. Years of war where her Pap was stationed in India and life was uncertain and the women back home in the U.S. of A were tough and smart. No more did she just have to be a wife and mother only, but she could work and have a career. But her Pap wanted her to be sensible and true and have a future.
Nursing it was to be.
She did things in the right order: Starched white uniforms, marrying her high school sweetheart, writing when time allowed.
Time allowed her to write when her first born son lay fighting for his life.
Opening her broken heart to the world where she was scared wasn’t sensible, but it was noble and true. Writing came out in peeks and spurts until this smart, strong woman decided to live her dream. She retired, she stayed married to her sweetheart and now she was allowed this luxury.
She wrote and she believed and she dreamed and she finished it.
She hawked. Gave up.
And then this little girl, a child of the Second War, a daughter of the greatest generation, who was the good girl and did the right thing,
saw her name of the New York Times Best Seller List. Astonished.
This is post is dedicated to my lovely mother-in-law writing and living her dream right now. Please go visit her! It was part of a writing exercise where you are given a one word writing prompt by LisaJo Baker at 12:01am on Fridays. Then you write, with no editing, no chickening out and then put yourself out there. Click on the link below to join in!
This post was inspired by my first #fmfparty and the prompt was "Write". You are more than welcome to join.