As an unpublished writer with 50+ years' experience, I'd be lying to say this is my first blog post. I've started a few blogs along with a few aborted websites, and they always die a miserable death, alone and unattended. As trite as it sound, this time is different. Also, you'll notice a few links in here. I'm not an affiliate or whatever. I've just learned the value of showing support for things that matter to me.

Something has shifted recently though not through any awareness or effort on my part. Maybe it's my age, and realizing 2/3 of my life is over and I still haven't truly pursued what I wanted to accomplish in my life. More optimistically, perhaps it's the rumored wisdom that comes with aging. Or possibly it's the story behind the black and white image that accompanies this, the first post in this new blog. 

You see, that picture was taken by a fellow writer, one who I got to know along with a handful of other talented women as we threw money at our dreams and attempted a months' long online training program to develop our writing habits and make the life we wanted to pursue. The class itself turned out to be average "write every day" or "write what you know" with a great helping of "read all these other writers' thoughts on writing". All useful if bland advice, not really of value until you feel that shift inside yourself. No amount of training, of hacks, or even others' encouragement can make you a writer. No matter how well intentioned or how strongly your cheerleader believes in your talent.

The best thing to come out of that class was my association with my writing group, Happily Ever After or HEA for short. Made up of dreamers who went through the program, we persist in meeting up virtually and sprinting on our individual writing projects, taking time to catch up, read bits and pieces of work, and generally keep the dream alive. The most vocal and upbeat of the lot took that black and white photo while we were all at our first in-person writing retreat at a VRBO in Georgia. She believed in all of us, except herself. No matter how much we laughed at her heroine's small town antics, she didn't believe she was ready quite yet. 

Nothing we said was taken as anything but superficial praise. No one could convince her she was ready, that she just needed to put her story out there and readers would come, if not for the first book, then the second for sure. Our encouragement was often turned away with a "thank you, but your story is so much better. I can't wait to see you published." Even when her published friends encouraged her, mentored her and bullied her a bit, she never saw the true value of her work. Colleen was the friend everyone needs to see them through when things get tough, when dreams seem unreachable, even when they themselves falter. 

I love this photo Colleen took of me as I sat near the river with my laptop one morning enjoying the breeze and the ducks and the freedom of spending time with like-minded people who offered nothing but support to each other. It was a magical time with people I hardly knew, but were good friends nonetheless. It was such a transformative time indulging in our art and friendships that we planned to get together again at Chicago-North's Romance Writers Spring Fling 2023 https://chicagospringfling.com/. At that time, Kerry Lockhart published her first novel Fast Love https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0C7BJKLK9/ref=kinw_myk_ro_title. She was participating in the Fan Meet and Greet at the conference, the first of our group to publish and attend such an event, adding an additional layer of excitement to all of us.

We found out in February, two months before our grand reunion. Colleen unexpectedly passed away in her sleep. It was impossible, she was young, energetic, a vibrant woman who drew everyone to her with enthusiasm and unending support. Once the shock, the numbness passed, plans were made. An online celebration of life that opened my eyes to just how many people she touched, filling the Zoom meeting. No one cried, at least not openly on camera. I think we all felt an obligation to remember all the fun she brought into our lives and not dwell on the loss. It was a nice way to remember her, to try to bring closure to a life rudely interrupted, to dreams postponed now never realized.

We attended the conference, wearing buttons created by another HEA member, to bring Colleen's smiling face along with us, and provoke conversations with other attendees about the wonderful person we so missed. Even then, I didn't feel the shift. Didn't succumb to the realization that dreams unrealized, die. I should have, should have thrown off my self-indulgent procrastination and avoidance of my work. I wrote, in spurts and sputters, rewriting favorite chapters and dragging through new ones with the enthusiasm of an introvert at a company meet and greet. Smiling and nodding my way through superficial scenes, assuring myself as awful as it was, it was still work and had value.

Now, finally, I feel the shift. If you'll forgive the Rocky Horror Picture Show paraphrase, it's "a bit of a mind flip...And nothing can ever be the same". Subtle, quiet but I feel a change all the same. I'm not a newbie writer or a wanna be author anymore. I am a writer and I write not to prove the truth of it, but because of it.