Writing Revival

"A good critique session is like a tent revival. Everyone leaves on fire. And stays that way for a little while."

During my recent tent revival I sat with master writer Ron Rozelle.
I wrote.
I read.
I learned.
I revised.
And most importantly, I received feedback from ten amazing writers who were going through the same struggles. And writing is indeed a struggle.

Mr. Rozelle was right. I walked away on fire as a writer.

So how do I keep that flame burning?

For now, it is through what I am writing, my continued writing about Mema. Oh how I do love writing about her. It means I get to interview family members (which means lots of laughter), many of whom I seldom see. It means I am flipping through and reading and enjoying old journals. The entry below is one such journal. It is not related to my current project, but I did enjoy reading it. I can only assume it was written in response to "Where the Sidewalk Ends," but that is a total assumption on my part. What I do know is that it was written during a Greater Houston Area Writing Project institute. I was a facilitator that summer, and I share it here exactly as it was written.
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July 12, 2005

Where will my sidewalk end?

Will I find a life with sidewalks at all?

No need for them in Danbury, naturally, a place so safe we just walk on the road. A place that has no rush hour. A place. A place that resonates a true sense of place.

Pastures, backstops, a one hall school. A town with one blinking light. Ask anyone from Danbury and that is the description you will get: A town with one blinking light.

That light hasn't actually blinked since I was in high school, but no matter. We all know to stop.

You didn't date without checking to see if you were related. That was definitely a rule.

Upon graduation, I moved away intending never to return other than for holidays and family visits.

Enter Ryan.

I knew he had to have that experience. That place. That small town with a huge family place.

His Little League team includes four cousins and is coached by his uncle and his Papaw. In his four years of school he has been taught by three cousins. We live in a strange cross section between The Twilight Zone and Pleasantville.

We live in a one-of-a-kind place.