There was a time when English composition was just another subject in school.
Even thoughout my work-life when I had an eight-to-five job. Writing was just something I needed to do. After all, how exciting could it possibly be to write memos, letters and reports?
Not until I hit my midforties, when a life-threatening sickness in the family gave me my own second wind. That's when I discovered journalling... and the joy of setting words trapped inside me free.
Here are some of my musings -- some past, but mostly present. A few are by other people, but their essence parallels that of my own.
Maybe someone somewhere can relate. And have his or her own moment of truth.
And hopefully also discover what it's like to soar...
