“Creative nonfiction is not making something up but making the most of what you have.”
Why I write:
Feeling amazing communication through the written word as I stare at my name in print, knowing “One does not choose the time to write . . . it chooses you.”
I started writing late in life. A trip to Rome, a private Audience with the Holy Father, Pope John Paul II and much more . . . in November, after 9/11 flying on Delta, with all those security measures – the whole trip was so overwhelming and wondrous, when we returned, all I knew to do, to write IT all down: “The Power of Prayer”
That was the beginning…
In 2008, I wrote my first poem, it won 1st prize, twice. In Chicago, at Dream Quest, $250.00 and in Tennessee’s Poetry Society contest.
The poem also won second place in a National contest in California. “The Dog that Could not walk”
Writing is essential to my existence in a life filled with emotions where my passionate mind believes in the power of words…
I am a successful retired hair stylist.
Swiss born, I arrived in New York alone, speaking and understanding very little English. Fear a constant companion. I was 23.
Life’s unpredictable effect-events at its finest as I waited 11 months for a green card, an American working visa; lot’s of time to change my mind.
Walking off that ship in New York, from England, I remember thinking of my Mom, her amazing, bragging words I could never believe came from my stern and oh, so strict Mom:
My daughter can do anything! This was the moment to live up to those words; eventually was now.
Years later I would come to understand that from a tiny seed of such praise would emerge an exceptional will to cause my Mom to be right.
My Mom and my Dad, owners of a successful old-world hair salon in Switzerland, didn’t live to know I am a published writer and if they had, they didn’t speak English.
Such is life. . .
I write in my second language; never in my native language, German. My writing is based on true stories – mostly about Coming to America, my life in America.
How I cherish the gift of writing…
“We all harbor dreams of greatness…the size will be measured by our memories.” Unknown.
My Anthology books 2014 (1 poem) 2015 (1 poem) 2016 (1 short story) are available on Amazon or Goose River Press, Waldoboro Maine.
The ABSOLOOSE Poetry book, Loose Moose Publishing, is at the Steamboat Library (I think)
Publishing’s also in various magazines and newspapers.
I hope my writing remains necessary…
Night of Broken Bones
“If life was easy . . . would there be music?”
How far can a hand go when pain is nothing he can see,
only his love can feel? His gentle touch on my arm, my tummy
searching in the dark,
as I lay not moving, to escape pain, all night and day, a statue for weeks;
my sense of glamour in a ditch; reckless skiing by an 18 year old,
flying like the wind.
Broken ribs, six they said, a fractured collar bone, collapsed lung,
three pieces broken off my left pelvis wing, iliac wing,
the leg nearest to my love.
Luke’s hand’s journey stops near my heart, ending up in my hand,
undeniably underrated a touch of holding hands under sheets,
a pursuit called love
of the simple kind. Sounds of his breath, his warm skin too far yet close,
divine peace, unity of two souls, one in pain, one wishing pain gone
for his wife of 42 years.
Agony, memories, twirling in his mind, a ski crash on Mt Werner’s famous Buddy’s run,
collision on snow, in the cold, plowing into her – as he watched his love
fly up in the air
plummeting like a ragdoll, on a groomed ski run, not letting her breathe;
hearing the moan in her voice, life savers on skis, the ski patrol guessing, rushing,
for what – oxygen.
A torturous ride down the mountain on a toboggan I live to tell, ambulance waiting,
blue sky above – seeing stars beyond my sight – pain I can’t see. . .
but Luke is near.
Oddly luminous as lit by an invisible candle hoping for a rainbow in my clouds;
No snowflakes on my face in the morning;
yet . . . knowing unmatched love beyond.
Published in ABSOLOOSE Poetry book 2016