I blame my grandfather for this addiction of mine.
Those weekly walks to the post office to get me a new notebook started something that I cannot stop.
A new empty book waiting full of purpose.
Full of promise.
The freedom in those empty pages.
Would this week be a journey of adventure and excitement?
Or poetry of heartfelt emotions.
It was there it all started.
The need to write.
It was then I became a writer.
Blaming my grandfather is only in jest.
In fact that great man gave me my greatest gift.
He believed in me.
In the purchasing of that weekly notebook he was saying “go girl you can do it”.
In the hours he spend reading through those precious pages.
He showed his faith in me.
I cannot say I became a writer because of my grandad.
The words were already forming in my heart.
Yet I can say I became a writer with my grandad.
His faith, his trust, his belief became the medium I needed to free the words that bubbled up inside my heart.
How I miss this great man.
How my heart aches with his loss.
Yet ever word I write is in honour of the man who told me
I was born to write.
That I was a Writer
Joining in again with Lisa-Jo’s five minute Friday. Following the prompt from Lisa-Jo we write for five minutes with no editing and see where it takes us.