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Another first Wednesday has rolled around on the calendar and that means nothing other than the Insecure Writer’s Support Group posting day! To learn more, sign up, or just check things out, CLICKETY-CLICK THIS LINK.

Created by the one and only, super-spectacular Alex Cavanaugh, this month’s co-hosts are:

Tyrean Martinson  http://tyreanswritingspot.blogspot.com/
Karen Walker  http://karenfollowingthewhispers.blogspot.com/
Denise Covey  http://dencovey.blogspot.com/
Stephen Tremp   http://authorstephentremp.blogspot.com/

Be sure to stop by, read, share your hopes, insecurities, dreams, setbacks, fears, or lessons you’ve learned to help inspire, recharge, and connect with other authors.


This month has been busy and tough with small progress, setbacks, and a rush of insecurities and self-doubt. As I sat down to write this post with specifics and details, I was left with the following. Writing is like that sometimes, or a lot. And so it goes.


And I Wonder

In the waning vestiges of fall I am reminded of life passing
Of aging parents and growing children
Of words that wither like so many dead leaves

And I wonder . . .

If my writing  is destined for the same fate
of those leaves, once blossoming–
now a memory (hardly fond). Of buds
appearing on once brittle limbs
that have again dried, unable to support
life in so many colors

And I wonder . . .

What was it all about anyway?
Did my desperate ego need stroking
that I was willing to spend countless hours
and money, green like leaves in spring,
to be “a writer?” Which means what?

And I wonder . . .

As I watch the human race tear the world at its seams
Relentless in our own destruction, human kindness
now the exception instead of the rule;
Where tens of thousands of “them” will spend
hundreds of thousands of dollars to cheer a sporting event,
Yet scoff at the thought of helping even one other of “them”
in their time of need.

And I wonder . . .

That maybe just one
of those tens of thousands
would read something I’ve written
and be so moved as to want to discuss my words
with me, or someone else.

And I wonder . . .

If that’s what being “a writer” means?
Or is it something else?
Or if it’s necessary to know?

And I wonder . . .

If my words, covered now with
so much self-doubt, like the dead leaves
blanketed by winter’s snow,
will be there in spring?



I wish I had more encouraging words for ya’ll today, but this is where I am. Days are like that, which makes the better ones that much brighter. 

Here’s a tip of my hat, a raise of my glass, and a smile that your journey is paved and smooth. Write well and be proud.

How do you find your writings as of today, right now? Let us know so we can help each other along this path.