I see writing as a very noble effort, full of mystery and somehow, a life of its own. In 1989, I began to write to survive. Writing saved my life. “The only way out is through,” and as I entered one of the longest, darkest tunnels of my life, I wrote to keep myself whole. My pen and paper took hold of my hand and squeezed the pain out of my soul. When the house was finally silent, I’d crawl between my sheets, grab my cheap steno pad and write – sometimes feverishly fast, sometimes slowly dragging the pen across the pale green paper. Sometimes all I’d write was, “I’m o.k., I’m o.k.” Just seeing the words in print verified it. I would yell on paper, scream in ink! As I made my way “through,” my written journey helped me to see a transformation; my writing became less emotional bleeding and more of a delicious recording of my days. I began to simply live my life again.

~ Valerie