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Found a poem I wrote in 2000 when I published my first two novels. 16 books later, I just want to hug younger me!
I squalled
Into the world.
Mother forgot layette.
Third world hospital:
No blankets.
Asthma!
Death is near, doctors prophesied.
Ha.
I showed ’em.
Flash forward.
Age 9.
Wheeeeeeeeze.
No running. No playing in the rain.
Books fill the hours.
Reading, then writing.
Lousy writer.
College.
Bright girl, many prizes.
Then France at 21.
Wine, cheese, boys.
Tried painting.
Lousy artist.
Writing improves.
Novel sold!
A Thirst For Rain. “Powerful redemption song” praises New York Times.
Forget painting!
The written word is salvation
Success, love, friendship, more…
All at keyboard’s touch.
Not bad for baby
Who chose not to die.
Eh?