Bookmark and Share

Hey folks, today I’d like to introduce Denise Whelan, a writer from Connecticut. She recently published a children’s book called “In The Land of Six and Seven” and it’s worth checking out. Take a look at her WEBSITE.

WRITERS UNITE

—Denise Whelan—

Writers Write, Writers Unite. This is the name I’ve been tossing around for a mini-class I’m proposing for a local group. We’ll do some creative writing, some sharing and critiquing, then talk about ways that writers can get their work published and how social media is so important to that process in today’s world. But for today, as a guest blogger, I’d like to pose a prompt, of sorts, for you to follow up on and post your own piece below.

At a recent writing seminar that I attended, we were asked to think of an event in our lives that was rather intense and all-consuming at the time, but now, years later, we see that we have indeed moved on. Perhaps the motive was to see if clichés like ‘Time heals all wounds’ or ‘It just takes time’ really do have merit. This is an audience participation blog today. Just write, perhaps 5, maybe 10 minutes. Post it here. Or just tell us about your event, how it changed you, or how things just changed over time. Here’s mine. Ah, the power of transformative writing.

Somehow it never crossed your mind that having children wasn’t a God-given, inalienable right. You worked hard to get the good job, the house, the cars, the dog. The white picket fence.

And you waited. And waited. And waited.

Nothing.

Months and months of doctors, nurses, hospitals and procedures. All of that poking and prodding. Everyone thinking that they have an answer. A solution to “the problem.” A way to fix things. A way to make it happen.

Months turn to years, and in that time, things change. You change. Your thinking changes. The relationship changes. You become so concerned with test strips and things like counting out days on a calendar. Spontaneity becomes a thing of the past. You find yourself falling into an abyss each month where a color tells you “No.”

What else can you do? Surely there has been some new development that can save you?

Nightly syringes plunge into your thighs and bottom. If anyone could see, they’d surely think you a junkie. But no, yours is pain of a different sort.

Who would know, really? To the outside world, there is the job, the house, the cars, the dog. The white picket fence. You’re living the dream, right? You don’t dare open the door to your own private hell. You shudder as you watch couples pushing baby carriages, children playing in the park, mothers suckling newborns. Your head feels ready to explode. You want to scream – WHY…….Why……w h y?

Casual looks, quick nods and acknowledgements, feigned smiles. Pick yourself up, dust yourself off. Go about the day’s routines. But cling to hope. It is, for now, your only ally.

******

Follow up: This writer is now 20 years older and has 2 grown daughters. Time.

 

Her brief BIO:

DENISE WHELAN earned a B.S. from the University of Connecticut and holds an M.S. in Education. She has been a contributing writer for a local newspaper for many years, a teacher, and a storyteller at local schools, libraries, and charity events. Her first book, In the Land of Six and Seven, was recently published.

 

Bookmark and Share