Week 14-Planting The Roses (Fall Break)


“I think God gets pissed off when you walk past the color purple and don’t say nothing.”

-Shug Avery, Alice Walker–The Color Purple



My Fall Break started with my oldest child being ill. So, my Fall Break officially started at 11:30 am Friday, November 22, 2019. This is also my maternal grandmother’s 91st birthday. I will be graduating on the 21st anniversary of my father’s passing. This semester has been chock full of hard decisions, scary thoughts, and the baby steps towards changing my whole life.

I am that much closer to my dream of completing my MA/MFA. I have met incredible people, started my professional network, and gotten my foot in the door with organizations which would allow me to work in a Creative Writing sphere.

I am a part of Sigma Tau Delta, the International English Honors Society.

I am researching Low Residency options for graduate school. I found out that my dream school from 20 years ago offers this option!

I have the option of getting into New York University. For graduate school. The joy? The absolute joy I have thinking of that–realizing that what I want, what I have worked for?

I can see it.  I can see it.

So for these 7 days? I am going to reflect. I am going to rest. I am going to recoup. I am going to write.

And…I am going to dream.


I started writing at 8.

Ms. Constance Kelly at Lowell Elementary School, in Room 203 told me to keep writing.

Mrs. Annie Green taught me to respect my thoughts and write them down.

I gave up the dream of being a cardio-thoracic surgeon at age 12, to follow what I knew I wanted to do.

At 16, I wanted to go to NYU.

I knew what I wanted to do. I knew.

I knew.

Nursing was never my heart, it never was the forever. Words were. Writing as been what Queen Elizabeth I calls ‘a full satisfaction.’ This gift has been with me since my mother and father taught me to read at age 4. It is something about these 26 letters; about language; about this magic of teeth, brain and tongue that I chase.

That I love.

That I have to have.

The best lover I have ever had is the [American] English alphabet. No man could ever match that. I think when I ignored that passion, the thing most in me–of me–to do?

God was upset at me. I really do.

Remember the Parable of the Talents. (Matthew 25:14-30 King James Version)

One servant had 5, and made it 10.

One servant  had 2 and made it 4.

One servant had 1–and buried it. And the master cursed him for it.

24 Then he which had received the one talent came and said, Lord, I knew thee that thou art an hard man, reaping where thou hast not sown, and gathering where thou hast not strawed:

25 And I was afraid, and went and hid thy talent in the earth: lo, there thou hast that is thine.

26 His lord answered and said unto him, Thou wicked and slothful servant, thou knewest that I reap where I sowed not, and gather where I have not strawed:

This one talent–that I thought meaningless, that I thought I could cover with what was safe–I covered.  For other people. 

This experience, this journey, has been extraordinary. It has reignited me in ways that made me forget I was 22 years past 16. It made me forget that I am going to be 40 soon. That my dream, that writing, is not a hobby. It is a gift. It is a call…and I have not always respect that.

Due to what people thought.

This week? I am forgiving myself.  I am celebrating my 4-year-old self who loved books; the 5-year-old me that wrote her name to get a library card. I am celebrating the 16-year-old girl that knew she wanted to write. And wanted to go all over the world to see all see could. I am forgiving the 18-year-old girl that tried to please people, and chased something that didn’t belong to her.

It was in my late 20s-early 30s when I embraced the title of writer fully. More than I had due to the benefit of age. This is what I do; it is not an avocation. I am a writer- or a writer AND.

I am going to celebrate that this week…and plant my roses. I’m resting. I earned it.