Writing Marathon


I feel as a little drop in a big sea of gifted writers. . . wishing my writing talent

was bigger more eloquent, more powerful. Mary gave us a plate of food for our

writing brains. . . poems and books about food to prompt our writing talents. During

the Open Mic we shared our stories with different styles. . . some funny, some sad,

and some thought provoking. How good it feels to be with those that love to write.

. . our guard comes down, we breathe, we share, we enjoy writing!

Jane apologized if her snoring would keep me awake. It was soft and quiet . . . the

sound reminded me of Rich . . . how I miss him . . . gently touching his back or cheek

to remind him to roll over. . . of coarse if that wasn’t enough– -an elbow would do. I

miss his warmth, his legs entwined with mine, his shoulder to lean on, his kiss and

voice saying, “Goodnight sweetheart. . . . I love you!” Thank you Jane for sparking

my memory . . . of little things I took for granted.

Writing to legislators . . . can I make a difference? Will they listen to my small

voice? Maybe Not. I will share my student work. . . they can hear a child’s voice.

As I sit here on my writing marathon, I see the big snowflakes falling, hear the

tires on the wet pavement, and feel the cold rushing in the door. My soul not only

craves the warmth of days gone by, but my body aches for warm sunny summer

days ahead.

My mind wanders . . . what can I possibly add to this great sea of writers? What

can I tell them about Comp Camp . . . that the purpose is greater than inspiring

students to write– -giving teachers an insight to the Writing Project. . . . to stir a

desire for Open Institute or Summer Institute . . . to give pre-service teachers

experience in the writing world. . . to inform our local community about the power

of writing.

It all seems overwhelming . . . it is certainly a daunting task for one drop in this

great sea of writers.


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