One of those good, stout rains that make alot of noise.
Tink, tink, tink, thud. Tink, tink, tink, thud.
I love good rain storms like that.
Perfect for reading.
And also for writing.
I just wrote something.
An email to my husband who is at work.
The email read:
I wrote something.
A short story, maybe.I don't really know what to call it.
All I know is you promised God and man that you'd always love me which means I can be my most vulnerable self with you.
So here it is... the first thing I've ever written, I guess.
I'd love to know your thoughts.
Mostly, I want you to know that I love you.
Oh... and I am thankful about that promise you made.
That we made.
ps... could you bring home some diet coke?
So it's official. I attached what I'd just written to my man.
I wrote something, I thought to myself.
In the wake of doing so, I am left with a weight of varying emotion:
Surely this isn't the first thing I've ever written? I have a degree in print journalism for-cryin-out-loud which required many a writing class, creative writing even.
I write letters.
But this thing I wrote? It's something altogether different.
I like what I wrote... I think.
Is that true? Do I like what I wrote?
I feel empowered.
I also feel extremely vulnerable.
But I kinda want to write more.
I do. I know I do.
I've had this line rolling around in my head for months, literally months now.
For a while I thought I'd read it somewhere else.
I called my cousin who happens to be a very talented writer.
"Did some of your writing start with this line ___________?" I asked her.
"No," she replied. "It must be a Molly original."
Empowered and vulnerable, I tell you.
I don't know that I am ready to share my newly written work in this space... I'm still trying to figure out who my audience is on this blog anyway.
But what I do know is this:
I wrote something.
And it felt good.
And I'll probably do it again.
The rain has slowed.
Now it's more of a tink... tink...
But that's okay, too.
Because right now at this very moment I am going to make a statement and if it were a'storming you might not be able to hear me:
My name is Molly and I wrote something.
Does that make me a writer? Maybe in some circles.
Maybe. Just maybe.