Venturing into a writer's world.

I don't claim to be a writer, not in the conventional sense. What I write comes from a raw place, it's how I find balance within the emotion. It's not easy. I know first hand, watching my dear friend Dawn for the last 15 years hone her skills, suffer writer's block..mourn the death of some of her characters. The hundreds of hours spent writing, forgetting to eat, editing (my piece included) ... it's mind boggling. I've known her to get up in the middle of the night to pound out a scene because the characters just wouldn't leave her alone. I've seen her lose almost all her works because her computer crashed ( omg, can you imagine?! )  the list goes on and on and on. It's not a profession I'd ever want to do. It's harder than... raising teenagers. ( okay okay, close second ha ha  )

I've been her IR in some of her works but I take the friendship out of the equation when I read her pages. Honesty is what she needs, honesty is what she gets. I expect no less from her. So when she suggested I submit a piece I'd written last year, I did just that. And it was accepted by Vine Leaves, an online literary journal. It is celebrating it's very first issue today. I urge you to venture in and stay a while. There is talent on those pages.. ( and I am not talking about me. )


P.S.
The short story originated from a tree I came across last summer. One who's trunk still held yet it's branches and essence was gone. The picture you see in the background is of the tree itself.
If you care to read my piece, it is on page 8, titled Uprooted.