It’s Monday again (sigh, the weekend passed by way too quick). And yet it’s not just any ordinary Monday either. Not only is it Groundhog Day (and that damn groundhog better now see its shadow). But this day features my first guest blog post by Amora D. Like most of us, her love of words and writing began at a young age… Well, she tells the story much better than I could, so here’s Amora D.’s own cogito ergo sum of writing.:
As I sit back and reflect on why I wanted to become a writer it’s simple. I was never really good at anything else. I would find myself in the most fascinating conversations filled with stories about lives, love, and lessons. Mama just called it eavesdropping. I became so engrossed in the conversation that I would repeat back to her exactly what was said and who said it. She struggled with being proud of my capabilities and chastising me for acting like a grown up. What she viewed as being nosy I saw as research. Often times on our shopping excursions as we looked for an awesome clutch or shoes to don our happy feet, you would almost always find me on the aisle with the journals. I was and will forever be a journal junkie. I could stay in that section for hours thumbing thru empty pages and imagining the stories I could tell on each one. It’s my thought that if this journal is to carry my most precious thoughts then I have to be able to see an extension of myself in it.
Writing became my heaven, paper and pens my guardian angels. The kitchen table became my refuge. I always sat in the same spot and everyone knew that was “my chair.” I would empty my youthful thoughts day after day into those sacred journals. I would fill one up and eagerly wait for mama to whisk me to the store to select another. As an early writer, I wrote a snippet of something I had been working on and showed my mom my written expression. I was chastised in that yellow kitchen that day and punished for being too expressive for my age. Little did I know she was grooming me for my first lesson in writing: rejection.
So I wrote more. I wrote anywhere about anything. It wasn’t until I lost my dad that all words seemed to escape me. I sat on that bathroom floor weeping in the wee morning hours unable to sleep in preparation for the speech I was to give at his funeral the next day. Pen in hand, paper at rest, words unspoken. Just like times before an indescribable feeling took over my hand and the paper began to mirror my racing thoughts. The words seemed to flow out of me like a busted pipe no longer able to contain the contents due to constant pressure.
My passion for writing was reignited that night. I love words. They are the only things in all of the earth that have the power to create and destroy simultaneously. Since the world is filled with others just like me it is always hard to choose a “favorite.” It feels like I have betrayed a friend if I choose or it could be a lack of decisiveness on my part. I choose to believe in the former. A few of my favorite authors are Pearl Cleage- for her relatable characters, Mitch Albom– for his ability to make us think beyond the scope of the world around us, and Lauren Weisberger for her crafty creativeness and page turning fierceness. One day I hope to give off such impressions to my readers just as they were given to me.
Amora D. is a New Orleans native and has been writing since she was young. You usually found her at the kitchen table surrounded by journals and colorful ink pens. She enjoys reading fiction novels, romantic novellas, and the like. When her head isn’t in a book or filled with her next project, she spends time alongside her husband picking his brain for writing prompts and eating cookies. Her first novel, “Let’s Face It”, will be out later this year. You can follow Amora D. on Twiiter
and on Facebook as Amora Dio.