Prodigal Poet: An Ecclectic Offering on God, Shakespeare, and the Beatles

There are days when I love writing so much that I just can't seem to get words out quickly enough to satisfy the inundated crevices of my soul. And there are probably far too many days when I hate it -- I hate the way it feels, sounds, tastes . . . I hate the way it taunts me and chastizes me for not being more clever and witty. Writing is really a love/hate relationship. You don't do it simply because you love it. You do it because you feel you have to -- that you will cease to be you if you don't. I've talked plenty about how I discovered that writing was my life-calling when I was 9 years old, writing my first book of poems for the Young Authors Contest. I had never felt such satisfaction before as when I first put pen to paper for that very first poem, titled "Mothers." I will probably never aptly articulate just what that moment meant for me and what it did to me. I was hooked. I was lost and gone forever in a world full of words,...

Well, I suppose my first random act, in relation to this blog, is the mere fact that I started this blog. I honestly did not think I was destined to become any form of a blogger. I've been writing for my own amusement since I was nine years old. This was the magically-delicious year that I discovered my greatest passion in life . . . writing, especially poetry. I sat in Mrs. Landis' third grade class as she announced that it was time for the Young Author's Contest, and we were all obliged to participate. We could choose to write non-fiction, fiction, or poetry, as well as illustrate. Poetry . . . hmm, now that was something I had never really thought of trying. The idea intrigued me so greatly that I could hardly wait to get home and start my new project. My first poem was titled "Mothers" -- a tribute to my mom. With that first poem I felt new emotions surging inside of me, feelings that were exciting, cathartic, and liberating. It was as if a new i...