when she was three or so, maybe younger, she sprawled out on the floor and said,
i want to be a writer
i got a big stupid grin on my face and a smile in my heart at hearing that one. i did not make her say it or ask her to say it. she just said it one day while scribbling on some sheets of paper.
she has written poems (quite good ones i must say) and draws like the dickens. she has had a change of heart in the past couple years and no longer wants to be a writer. she says
i am not a writer, i'm an artist
and she draws well, but i don't want her to put a mental block there. so my typical response is,
say i choose not to write now, i choose to draw rather than setting your mind against writing
although the heartache and grief she would be spared by NOT being a writer is immense, i just don't want her blocking herself. and fifty years later in therapy finding it was that little profession that bound her up (like mick's rum soaked fruitcake).
so she is sitting there reading some big book this morning and we have to leave. i go shopping on tuesdays. and she says,
i'm going to read another chapter, that one was good.
the kid may not be a writer, but she is definately a reader and that is plenty.
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