Writers aren't exactly people, they're a lot of people trying to be one person. F.Scott Fitzgerald

Friday, January 29, 2010


Now isn't that a depressing subject on a cold, gray day. My thoughts wandered to something my mother said one morning while she was getting dressed for work. I loved her huge dressing room and would wander in and sit on the floor while she dressed and did her make up. On this particular morning she was in one of her black Irish moods. If you have a drop of Irish in you, you'll know what I mean. She sighed heavily and inspected her face in the mirror.
"You know Pam, I don't feel any different than I did when I was twenty. Then I walk by a mirror or see a refection in a window and I wonder who is that old lady?
Momma pierced my heart with the pain and sadness reflected in her blue gray eyes when she looked at me. When she spoke her voice was soft, wistful and full of incredible sadness.
" Then I realize it's me."
I turned sixty five just before Christmas and for the first time I understood what Momma was saying that day almost fifty years ago. Only now that old lady in the mirror is me.


Finished one manuscript and still rewriting and editing. Planning on entering it in a few contests. need something to put in my query to agents. Don't think they will be impressed that I won first place in a writing contest in High school and got to read my poetry and an excerpt from my short story on a local television station in Monro,La.. Same goes with the distinction of having the most poetry published in our school journalism, publication the Quill and Scroll. Class of 1963. Good lord I don't feel that old.