Previous Challenge Entry (Level 1 – Beginner)
Topic: Writing (01/11/07)
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TITLE: Today I Am a Writer | Previous Challenge Entry
By Candy Statts
01/15/07 -
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She sat in her chair in front of the open window. Her brown tangled locks, with a hint of gray, overflowed into her lap as again she bowed her head in despair. A fresh breeze flowed in from the open window, a delightful wind, but she wasn't feeling the breeze. She was feeling the pain. All her life she wanted to write, to make a difference. But as the years went by she remained, in her eyes a failure. She never did all the things she had planned to do with her life. She would never write, she would never dance, she would never fly.
Someday, she thought, the tears starting up in eyes again, "I will dance. I will dance, and I will write to tell about it. I will sing, and I will write about it. I will fly, and I will write about about how it felt to soar". But still she remained in her chair, wrestling with the voices of despair. All her life the voices had told her that she would never succeed. That she wasn't worthy of love or respect. Her life, she was told was like the kiss of death to all who touched her. Her only son was born into a silent world. Her husband was recently departed. The black crepe was still hanging on her door. "I will write." she said again, wiping a tear from her swollen eyes.
She shared with someone today her desire to write. That person, who was by now a seasoned writer, snorted saying "Oh yes, there are a lot of people that think they have a story to tell; they actually think they can write. Each one thinks they are supposed to be a writer. But most of them never make it." She gave her an appraising look, snorted again and walked away.
"No-one believes in me", she thought. She dropped her head into her hands, a wilted flower bowed low. The wind from the open window was again tantalizing her. A sweet aroma, like the smell of roses and lilies wafted around her bowed head. It caressed her wet cheek and soothed her fevered brow.
She raised her head to the open window. She heard the tinkling of her wind chimes in the distance, and saw her curtains rustle in the breeze. And then she heard it, a sweet voice in the wind whisper "For I know the plans I have for you, plans for a hope and a future." For a long moment she sat poised, letting the wind fan across her tear-stained cheeks. Then with a look of hope she arose from her chair and went to her typewriter. My future begins now, she thought, as she began to type "Today I am a writer,......"
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