The files are piling and piling up… with so many files still needing editing and organizing. I look at the stacks of pages, the files on the computer, and I can’t help but think of my mother, and what she must be going through… what she must be thinking. 

My mother is on the verge of being a great writer. The hell with that – she is A GOOD WRITER. But she is getting to that period of when a writer goes through a tough, essential spot. It is when the ideas and the pages and the files start filling up the empty spaces of your home; not to mention, your mind. 

What a fabulous, frustrating time, dealing with time, creativity, and what to do next. How often should you work on one project, finish the first one… pick out the Author’s Photo, write the Author’s Description… all that fun stuff, which is not fun, but is important. 

I talked with my mother today about several of her writing projects. She seemed nervous. And it is understandable. There is a great deal of self-pressure involved in creative endeavors. 

Am I doing things right? 

What am I doing wrong? 

Will others like it? 

So many, so many fucking questions. Hard questions one asks themselves. 

Some things are in your blood. With some of the people in my family, telling stories – sharing stories – is in our family. 

Listening to my grandfather, my uncles, my mother, and my grandmother – my great-grandmother, even, I received an education in the importance of words and stories and the passing down of them to a generation of the next pair of ears. 

So, listen to your elders. Even if you don’t agree with them, it will define who you are. I know it did for me. 

My mother is a writer. Same as me. We tell our stories; our beliefs. And I am happy to contribute any help.

If ever you have a family member needing an open ear to fill, let them fill it. It feels better and sounds better than a hole echo from the minds of hell.