About Val

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I’m a wife and mom in midlife pursuing my God-given passions. The words in my head have been haunting me for decades, so I’m finally putting them on paper. In the meantime, I’m a proficient copy editor having worked in traditional media for 10 years and offer reasonable rates. May your reading be enjoyable and your comments kind!

Why I Shouldn’t Have a Blog
Not every word I write is poetry. I’m not Tolstoy, Capote or even Riebock. I’m an everyday kinda girl who stays home cleaning house, taking naps and playing Words With Friends while her husband’s at work and kids are at school. I cook nutritious meals, fold laundry, and do the soccer mom thing. Just because I can link words together in a meaningful way does that mean I should burden the Web with my drivel? Does anyone really care what a person who calls herself a writer thinks about the need for a nationwide medical database? Surely Facebook and all of its posts about who et what where and then ran so many miles in this many minutes is enough. But for some self-serving reason whenever I write I want people to read. Does this make me a narcissist? Or merely show that I’m meant to be a writer? Does it matter? Do you care? Or am I just talking in circles now?
Leaves falling from thick oak trees gently sway in the Indiana autumn as they make their way to the ground. I notice their crunch under my feet and descriptive words form in my head. I’ll go home and write this down, I tell myself but wait twenty years to do it. Now I’m sitting in a sunny suburb where the trees hold heavy palm fronds that don’t gently sway but firmly kerplunk their way to the ground, which isn’t so often. Still, those little leaves on my way home from class as a college student were my first inkling that I might someday want to write something other than a to-do list or love note. Not to say that these aren’t important.
Sometimes I wish I didn’t have to be a writer. It’s a pipedream. That’s why in American lit we were taught that hardly any of Dickinson’s poems were published before she died. But there’s something about stringing letters and words and sentences together that feels so good, so satisfying, so fulfilling. The emptiness that glooms when I’m too busy or lazy to prose appears exactly because I haven’t put my thoughts on paper. So forgive me, won’t you, for blogging up this little corner of the Net while I wait for the next contest or assignment or newsletter to beckon my words.

Why I Should Have a Blog

Thoughts in my mind morph into words
stream into sentences and stories …
Only when I put them on the page am I happy

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