One year ago, I was homeless.
I didn't have a place to live;
I didn't have a friend *it felt like that anyway*,
and worse, I didn't have a book, a book I promised Ed I would write.
The story of how and why I lived in and out of my car with my small dog and his little cat while looking for a place to live is best left for another book, or, perhaps the interview I dream of with women of The View after The Gift of Love, A Widow's Memoir, is published.
For now, this much I will share:
Reality can be a cruel teacher, as this writer will attest.
A year ago, all I had was the clothes on my back, a pen, a spiral bound notebook and a dream.
When I stopped crying and feeling sorry for myself, I doodled my dream on paper, then I papered the walls and doors of the place I now lovingly call home.
From creating space to live in, editing all my worldly possessions, to outlining my book while living life in a work zone, I look back at the last year of my life and realize I did it. After that, I am immediately reminded of the line in the Alka-Seltzer commercial:
"I can't believe I ate the whole thing."
If life is change, than I'm example. And proud to share:
|My birthday, 2010 - I call this The Way It Was.|
|Outline for "A Gift of Love, A Widow's Memoir"|
|2011 - This year's birthday--Flowers AND a card|
|AND dinner with a friend. The view from a table at Mulino's|
When writing for children, never write down to them, or underestimate their intelligence. Kids hate this.--Scott Edelstein
"The art of writing is the art of applying the seat of the pants to the seat of the chair."--Mary Heaton Vorse
Now go write something. I dare you.
See you in print,
Linda Della Donna