Tracie Daily
I once wrote a poem about a dying man from seeing a feather lying in the street.
I wrote another about a beautiful woman on her way to work because a lady was slipping her shoe on at the bus stop that morning.
If it hadn't been for leonard Cohen's book of longing I'd never have picked up a pen to write regularly, if it hadn't been for an art therapist I'd never have bothered writing at all.
Finally if it hadn't been for my wife I'd never have shared one single piece. She prompted me, believed in me and supported me. When I think of where I was before mentality as to where I am today it's phenomenal really.
I've never needed inspiration to write, there's always been something for me to rattle on about, if anything it's been more of getting time to write which has been the issue.
A person can see a flea and write about disease and illness, someone else will write about animals, pets and vicious circles. Another will write about the circus in "A bugs life" and then there is me. I'll write it's eulogy.
Given the amazing power of the mind and my absolutely loopy imagination I cannot fathom a time when I'd not be able to write. There's a world of microscopic creatures living in the carpet beneath me right now. All we have to do is open the door, give them names and roles and boom we have a story.
That said - Tracie's story, I knew the minute Rose from S.A.M.M stopped talking that I'd write my story. They helped me beyond anything I could ever explain in words. As she stood there and told the story of her daughter's death to people she barely knew. I felt the air change, I felt included in a room full of people I didn't know. I felt connected. I knew then in that moment I'd write until I cried and then I'd write some more. I knew my mother's life wouldn't amount to nothing. I knew not only would something good come out of it, but something great.
I wrote another about a beautiful woman on her way to work because a lady was slipping her shoe on at the bus stop that morning.
If it hadn't been for leonard Cohen's book of longing I'd never have picked up a pen to write regularly, if it hadn't been for an art therapist I'd never have bothered writing at all.
Finally if it hadn't been for my wife I'd never have shared one single piece. She prompted me, believed in me and supported me. When I think of where I was before mentality as to where I am today it's phenomenal really.
I've never needed inspiration to write, there's always been something for me to rattle on about, if anything it's been more of getting time to write which has been the issue.
A person can see a flea and write about disease and illness, someone else will write about animals, pets and vicious circles. Another will write about the circus in "A bugs life" and then there is me. I'll write it's eulogy.
Given the amazing power of the mind and my absolutely loopy imagination I cannot fathom a time when I'd not be able to write. There's a world of microscopic creatures living in the carpet beneath me right now. All we have to do is open the door, give them names and roles and boom we have a story.
That said - Tracie's story, I knew the minute Rose from S.A.M.M stopped talking that I'd write my story. They helped me beyond anything I could ever explain in words. As she stood there and told the story of her daughter's death to people she barely knew. I felt the air change, I felt included in a room full of people I didn't know. I felt connected. I knew then in that moment I'd write until I cried and then I'd write some more. I knew my mother's life wouldn't amount to nothing. I knew not only would something good come out of it, but something great.
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