Prose: Year ONE Anniversary!
138 posts and another year rising with the sun!
Today’s Audio—
Oops…after recording the audio, I did a recount of the number of posts made in the first year; apparently, I can’t count! The number is 138, not 139. My apologies, I wasn’t about to re-record. 🙏🏼💜🤦♀️
Hello all and sundry,
Come ON IN! I am a bit giddy, and in awe quite frankly, that this has been ONE YEAR since launching To Be Livin’ Poetry and Prose! Let’s have a seat, get a little something special to sip, and have a reminisce of this time last year.
A little over a year ago, I sat, with face lobster-red on our guest bedroom floor, all drenched in sweat, surrounded by stacked boxes quite precariously brought down from the belly of our attic. You’d have been horrified, yet proud to witness my removal of those boxes from a dropdown contraption called a ladder; one ridiculously expected to give easy access to our little attic.
At nearly 55 years, with much less agility than I once graced, it was all athletic maneuvering and strategic improvising like you’ve never seen! This old knees, wider hipped, hot flashin’ physique not only scaled those two-inch planks leading into the already-beyond-sauna-temps of our Texas located attic, but I rigged a tow-rope-pully system to bring those, who-the-HELL-packed-these, too heavy, oversized boxes down that steep angled, let’s-break-your-neck, rickety ladder! Not just one box, mind you, but SEVEN! Seven boxes of baby-to-college memorabilia that I quite suddenly had a calling to go through. What on God’s green earth was I thinking!?
Well, no thought, just an overwhelming tug to revisit what once was carefully packed in each. So, there I was taking cool-down, deep breaths under an AC vent with my hair stuck to my wet head, my back in spasm revolt, and my eyes wide in did-I-just-do-that amazement! Eyes also carrying ceiling focused pleas, “Lord, don’t let me have a heart attack!”
Once it was more than probable that Jesus heard my prayer, I dived in to the first box, then the next, and the next. There were the usual: trinkets, letters, treasures, cards, journals, pictures, report cards, and every thing a young person would hold dear. Most would hold dear, that is. I extracted some oddities as well from those boxes. Still have my arm cast from when I was six, when my arm was broken getting thrown from a rattlesnake-spooked horse. There was the hollowed-out egg I carried around for a whole week, when a sophomore in Independent Living class. You know, to give us a taste of caring for a 24/7 obligation, like the one that comes with the arrival of an egg-fragile infant. I am proud to say that egg is STILL intact! Also found, an envelope of horse hair; a good chunk cut from my Brandy’s mane. I had tearfully snipped a fist sized lock before our neighbor buried her in the family’s pet cemetery. All of the things in those boxes carried dear sentiment for me over all these years. Some, now, at this age, seemed silly to keep. Yet, as I held them in my hands, I wasn’t disappointed that I had hung on—to them; smiles and tears were proof of that.
Once I reached the college boxes, full of course catalogues, play bills, yearly planners, bar coasters, photos, posters, term papers, paraphernalia, blue book exams, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera, I was fully transported, Back to the Future style, and reliving the most phenomenal and most tragic moments of my life’s first quarter-century. Whew! Why, oh why, did I have the desire to visit days so long gone? My mind wondered what was that tug from my heart for?
When I opened the last box, filled with binders, I knew. The plain truth answer was everything to do with my buried dream. Each binder was full of my early writing: poetry, prose, three novels (all unfinished), and pages upon pages of ideas, thoughts, wonderings for future writing opportunities, and just STUFF. As I read through a few pieces, those moments, when I wrote them, came rushing back and so did my deepest desire to BE a poet, a writer. All that that desire once breathed was resuscitated. The dream was revived! To be a poet and a writer who had their works read, not only by me, close family and friends, but read by people who I’ve never met. How I would accomplish that was then the question. The answer came rather quickly, to my amazement—HERE, right here.
Now, here I am, and here you are, having met on this platform called Substack. A place for writers. A place for readers. A space for you and me to connect through the love of words and craft. An answer to my wondering of how I would breathe new life into my call to write and of where I would find an avenue to drive this dream. It’s here, RIGHT HERE.
After finding that first stash of writing, I’ve since pulled out MORE: from closets, from file cabinets, from journals, and from sticky notes I’d forgotten I’d sticky-ed. I’ve written new pieces as well! My goodness, this on-a-roll I am on shows no signs of slowing down! Whee! Oh, it sure feels FABOULOUS! In one year I’ve created and shared 138 posts, a good bit of Note postings, and have amassed a most spectacular community of readers! I am beyond blessed! I am quite amazed that, on a platform with so many writers, my little poetry and prose newsletter is growing like it is. I never imagined.
BEYOND any statistics, followers, subscribers, reads, and the rest, IS the joy-filled whoosh of my heart, which has come from not only tapping this writing tree again and feeling sweet flow of ideas and words, but from the interactions with YOU, which brings the flavor that I savor: all pure, 100% genuine, delicious LOVE.
When I started this unearthing of my writing dream, just over a year ago, I had no idea the journey, no idea who would join me on it, and NO IDEA it would be this GLORIOUS!
Thank you! With YOU, I am on the road I am meant to be on. THAT feels FABULOUS!
Oh, how I LOVE all Y’all! Thank you for being here for this Year One Anniversary of To Be Livin’ Poetry and Prose! I am SO stoked for what’s to come! I hope you’ll keep joining me!
With all the blessings and SO MUCH LOVE,
~Wendy💜
To Be Livin' Poetry and Prose is a reader- supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. Having you read and share my work does make my day! ✨ Having your support through a monthly or yearly subscription would generously keep me in sweet green tea! By now you KNOW, I drink PLENTY of it! No matter how you choose to support, I’m always sending you— MUCH LOVE!!!💜
Happy for you on your Substack anniversary. And for keeping all of those boxes filled with memories and writing.
Congratulations Wendy. I am happy you're here.