My writer's journey continues . . .

Part II.

Not long after that wintry night in Detroit when the angst of puberty, among other things, destroyed my childhood innocence, I started writing poetry. I used words to release my pent-up emotion, whether it was anxiety, happiness, remorse, fear, or the intensity of a desire that couldn’t possibly be puppy love.

I married while still a teenager and invested all my energy and emotions into my husband, my sons, and a career as a secretary. My secretarial life incorporated the jargon of many disciplines, and I spent years as a professional scrivener of one kind or another. While employed as a civil court clerk for a local judge, I typed legal briefs and constructed divorces. A job change: As a real estate agent, I learned the legalese of leases, purchase agreements, and deeds. Another job change: As a medical secretary/office manager, I transcribed operating room reports, diagnostic X-rays, created nuclear isotope purchase agreements, and job descriptions. I felt no need to write creatively.

Twenty years later came despair and divorce, and the writing started again. I enrolled as a part-time student at a community college and exhausted my grief in rhymes and journals. It was five years before I strengthened my resolve and laid aside the pen. Motivated by the divorce and a need to earn enough money to help support my sons and widowed mother, I refocused my energies on finding another line of work. . . . (To be continued.)

On a more current note, Mahala is without a computer for a while so we'll be temporarily deprived of her posts.

That's all for today, folks. You keep on keeping on, and I'll try to do the same.

cj

The Jeff Johnston photo is called "Subterranean Sunlight." Antelope Canyon is a slot canyon (thirty feet underground at this point) in Page, AZ, and accessible only with permission of the Navajo Nation. It proves to me that the sun can find a way through the narrowest of spaces to illuminate beauty in what should be the darkest of places.