Something Worth Saying

 What does it mean to have something worth saying? There's a lot of talk, chatter, noise, and brain rot (shout out to Oxford's 2024 Word of the Year), but it's not all worth saying let alone listening to. I like to think I have something worth saying. As a mother, it's my job to keep my children alive. When I tell them to "Look both ways when crossing the street," "Don't stand on the hutch," and "Let's not jump off the top of the swing set," it's certainly with their well being in mind. And even though they try their damnedest not to heed my warnings, I keep shouting, because darn it, I have something worthwhile to say. As a teacher, I impart directions, life lessons, and humorous anecdotes. Whether to help students learn and practice the writing process, aid them in chasing that A, or just build an enjoyable connection, I confidently assume it's worth it for all in the saying/listening relationship. But with writing, not only do I have to have something worth saying, but I need to present it in an engaging way. (Okay, so I probably need to do that as a mother and teacher, as well, but when written down I can't as easily deny my misgivings and missteps). 

Thus brings me to the end of my long-winded introduction. (Was it worth it?) I write because I have something I think is worth saying and hearing, and I hope I can do so in a way that hooks readers and leaves them affected by the characters, words, and story. 

I wrote Another Dance because I wanted to show the dichotomous nature of being a mother. The difficulty and the immense joy. The guilt and the pride. The insanity and the naturalness of the whole experience. How quickly one can vacillate between polarities. As a mother, I know what it is like to feel like I'm not enough, to feel like I've messed up, like I've messed my children up, and that I'm doing it all wrong. But I also know what it feels like to look at my children and feel more at peace and more in sync with another human than I've ever felt. To know within my soul that I was meant to guide these little humans through their entire lives. Motherhood is a tricky bitch, and I thought it was worth capturing within my character of Annie Obless. 

I also wrote Another Dance because I wanted to show that women are strong. They can experience loss, pain, doubt, and guilt, and still learn to accept and love themselves. And even though I am still in the process of doing just that (I really should start a daily mantra), I wanted others to hear this message and feel that they too are doing just fine. Wherever they are, however they are doing, they will be fine. In fact, they can be better than fine. They can be magnificent. I don't think we hear that enough in life. So I'm saying it. And while it might not be the most original concept, it's an important one and one I'm proud to have guided the writing of my first published novel. 

So while not everything I say is literary gold, I do have a lot worth saying. As a mother, a wife, a teacher, and a woman that has doubted herself for the majority of her life, I know what I would like to hear, so I created a story that would do just that. It doesn't mean everything works out perfectly, but it does mean that others are experiencing the same hardships and conflicts, and if others have overcome, then there's hope for everyone. 

Whether you read this first attempt at a blog entry, have read Another Dance or (get ready for this deep dive) my self-published novel Painting Walls, or have just been captive to my verbal pontifications at work or home, thanks for listening. And thank you for helping me believe I have something worth saying.