A writing teacher once said everyone works through the bleed on paper stage, especially when you’re a young writer.
I have always believed writing is a powerful tool that can engaged and cure your heart, especially if you’re a person diagnosed with mental illness.
In the past, I’ve been open about my mental illness, depression and struggles in the past with weight, if it could help other people.
And, I tried at the beginning of the year to turn some of my story into a memoir. Anytime I have tried to follow up with my short memoirs: “We Never Said Hello/ Grass From the Grave” – depending on where it has been published – and it’s follow up essay, “The Write Mother,” my memoir attempts did not feel right until I put them into a narrative poetic form.
I had the opportunity to take a second look at my collection, Frozen Snowflakes, in the hope that someone may be interested in publishing it as a chapbook after seeing a new, improved, and updated version of it. I am editing it from the ground up. It is essentially a memoir in verse about my relationship with my husband and my son’s early years.
As I began editing, I found I had too much to put into one collection, so I now have three memoirs-in-verse. I’ve turned Breastfed – a love story from me, a mother, to my daughter – into a poetic memoir. The second one is a newer collection about a family raising a son with mild autism.
That is what I wish to share with you today. Because through everything as a writer and a graduate student, who has non-stop assignments, my husband – called “Ben” in my memoirs – has been a rock. He ends up in a lot of my writing because he has always understood the love of my life has been the results of what I write with keyboards and pens. Now we are taking a new journey together as we raise our son recently diagnosed with autism.
Rather than put all of it into one post. I share the poem in a second post today called Through Tornadoes.