Today I'm going to reflect on where I came from and how that is shaping where I'm going. Where are your people from? I'm mostly English and Irish with a dash of American Indian thrown in. My mother's family is from Mississippi. My father's adopted family is from Texas. My mom's family was full of wild farmers. They knew gardens, horses, and apples. They knew how to tell stories. Ooh, did they. I get shivers just thinking about it. On my dad's side, his people were pillars of the community. They knew good jokes and how to get things done. They asked lots of important questions and had a social conscience that was as deep as the ocean. Who is your neighbor? Everyone. End of the story.
So where am I going? This unique mix of history has shaped me into the storyteller I am today. From the beginning this has been my talent. I'm no high-brow literary genius (but I'm sure I don't need to kiss the Blarney Stone, in fear that it might try to steal some of my power). I'm not a poetic soul baying at the moon. Boo, no green gold ribbons, no scarlet flame. In me is rip-roaring adventure and complexities that would give any weaver a headache. And, sure enough, I hope to send shivers down every one's back, and I'd like to think I dive as deep when it comes to the important questions and the social conscience piece. I let my roots draw up the life for my fiction. Each story turns out like a new leaf, rich from the roots.
I hope you take time this week and think about where you came from. Give it some deep thought. Try feeling your roots. Consider what they are drawing into the creative part of you.
This week's doodle is "Baby Grass."
All things must come to the soul from its roots, from where it is planted.
Saint Teresa of Avila