I want to keep my writing to myself,
huddle over a notebook with a pen,
close my work with a lock,
and hold it inside where I can wonder
over it with hope and joy, and imagination.
I shout it out over the net,
sharing too much, throwing up the words
like they are unwanted confetti,
holding my shoulders back to take
the criticism that comes, and show
that somehow I don't mind.
I write with my kids, and
we draw maps with obstacles
for our characters to cross,
adventures that point us to the
x that marks the spot, the treasure
of story writing and sharing our fun
ideas with each other, curled up on the couch.
I carry my notebook and my laptop
into every room of the house, in the car,
and to church, to all the places I go, and
I write and write, and write, and then
I chase my family around saying, "read, read, read."
my daughters chase me around the house
with their notebooks in hand, asking me to listen
to their work, while I chop vegetables for dinner,
fold the laundry, pile homeschool books up on the table,
sometimes I stop what I'm doing and just listen,
happy that I've somehow taught them the excitement
I feel in writing stories, and poems, and just playing with words.