As I sit down to write out my second post for Blogging 101 I have spent a fair amount of time thinking about what I wanted to write. More specifically who I am writing too, that was the assignment after all. Who is my dream reader? I had a list of different people who it might be. I thought about my friends and family who are being so supportive of this blog and reading my writing entries. I thought about that overworked publisher who leaves her 50 hour a week day job and comes home and opens up WordPress at night and reads my blog. She instantly recognizes my genius and calls me the first thing the next morning offering to publish my novel. I thought about myself. I have always maintained that I don’t write for others, I write for myself. I write because I need to, because there are stories in my head that need to be released. I write for therapy and I write for catharsis. So who is my ideal reader? I chose not to choose, I chose them all. I write for me, so it makes sense that reading my own writing and enjoying it should be important. When I post my blogs I have spent time going through and rewriting and editing in hopes of giving a final product that my friends and family will love. In the secret corner of my mind I would love for that publisher to be reading this very blog. So that is my answer, my dream reader is whoever is reading this blog right now. YOU are my dream reader!
With that in mind, and with the main purpose of my blog being fiction, I am including an excerpt of a story I have been working on for years. This is a piece of the first book in my collection of books that are hanging out in my laptop. It has been in my head and my heart for years. I hope you enjoy it…
My Mother’s Rings
As I stand facing the crowd of people before me my breath catches in my throat. A sea of faces look back at me, so many faces. The auditorium is full, and I have been told there are also people lining the streets. I recognize many of the people sitting in the audience; friends, family, coworkers, students… the list goes on and on, and they are all sitting here waiting for me to speak. I feel so many emotions, mostly love. Of all the people in this room, I am certainly the most blessed. With this knowledge and a smile on my face I take a breath and begin to speak.
I begin to tell the story that lead me here today. The story of the woman who raised me, loved me, and taught me to be fierce beyond belief. I see her off to the side, just in my peripheral vision, where she can always be found. Always one to work behind the scenes. She smiles and nods as I begin to tell my story, her story, our story.
I breathe deeply and begin;
“This is the story of my mother, Marina Marie Marsden, and how she made me the woman I am today…”