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Thoughts Of Suicide

Confession: March 24th was going to be the end for me. Months with no car, pain, painful treatments, meds screwed up, isolated, low on cash...

Tuesday, September 25, 2012

In the Pursuit of a Dream

I have always dreamed of being a writer. Well,  published author. 
I've been a writer all my life. I got my first "official" rejection yesterday. Actually, it's my second rejection.

At age ten, I submitted a teleplay to the fine folks at PBS for Mr. Roger's Neighborhood. I was an ambitious ten year old. It was a fairytale titled, "I Can't!" about a little girl who kept saying, "I can't" to everything. Long story short, the final scene was the confrontation between "Lily" and "King Friday"(anyone old enough to remember him?) He declares,"If you tell your brain 'you can't'--your body won't so from this day forward, "You can't say 'you can't' anymore!"  Well, I thought it was pretty good...I was ten, remember. A few weeks later, I got a letter in the mail from the crew at PBS/Mr. Roger's thanking me for submitting my story--even mentioned it by name--but etc. and....to "keep writing."

 I have been able to keep writing by incorporating my double majors of Nursing and English from college into patient care all these years.Write it. Describe it. Make everyone see it with your  words. The written word is sacred text. It's evidence in the world of healthcare. If you didn't write or "document it"---it didn't happen!

Now back to my rejection.

After speaking to the editor, I finished my article and sent it to the magazine. I felt like I was sending off a child as the envelope left my hand..................Good Luck, My Child!! Go With God!! Dreams of  my article being published danced in my head. I was going to be a published author! Wow! First time out! Beginner's luck!!

Yesterday, I got a call from that editor telling me that my article wasn't long enough, etc. It didn't hurt my feelings, wasn't meant to---just one professional talking to another. Afterwards, I started "reading between the lines" of what the editor said and what they really meant. In no time, I had myself thinking that I was the worst writer in the world and had no business sending articles to anybody!  "I CAN"T be a writer." I said. But as soon as I said that, it reminded me of the little teleplay I sent to Mr. Roger's decades ago.

King Friday decrees: "You can't say 'I Can't' Anymore!"



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