One Day , You ’ ll See ! My Name Will Be In Lights !
I remember these words as if I ’ d spoken them just yesterday . I was 15 , and once again , being reminded that my particular path was not a “ stable ” path . I needed something to “ fall back on ”, just in case . Of course , the over-emotional artist in me only heard , “ You ’ ll never succeed in this far-fetched dream of yours . Do something else . Something more responsible .”
Everything came full circle for me though , when on Oct . 29th , 2010 , I looked up at the digital marquee , outside of the banquet hall we were going to be entering soon , and saw my name up there . In sparkling white digital lights . My fifteen year old counterpart would have been so proud . But she also would have exclaimed a few dozen , “ I told you so !’ s ” I still relate to that fifteen year old . On an artist ’ s level , at least . Allowing myself to get lost in my work , or the world I ’ m creating on paper . Getting annoyed when there is an incessant , constant barrage of “ Momma ... momma .... momma ...” or “ Honey .... Honey .... Honey ....” Or even allowing uncontrollable fits of laughter to consume me , when the next chapter has been completed .
It is that fifteen year old , and her undeniable drive , and passion to create beautiful works of art , whether it be a painting , or a song or even a short story , that pushes me through the frustration , the writer ’ s block , and even the times when motivation has run screaming from the house , leaving me high and dry . I remember her goal , and there is just no way I can let her down .
Of course , the years have sharpened a few edges , and smoothed a few others . In my passionate desire to finish “ the next chapter ”, there is a patience that has developed . “ It will happen .” In my need to hold a finished book in my hand , a calm has developed . “ No need to jump on the roof , and wake the neighbors .” And in my unbridled infatuation , with seeing my name in lights , a graciousness has developed . ( I pointed the sign out to my mother , and had no urge to yell , “ I told you !”)
Throughout this journey , and all of the ripped and torn out pages , that were promptly crumbled and tossed into the waste can , every year that passed , ensured that the woman who published